Winter's Fury
by ShingekiNoPantsu
Summary: A take on if Robert had not just one trueborn heir, but two! And as they fight their own mother and brother for the fight for the Iron Throne, will they have to fight against each other too? Robb/OC
1. Prologue

**Author's Note** : I know this might be a little overdone, but I did something different in some ways. I hope this made you guys interested. And no, that doesn't mean I abandoned my other story. This will probably update a little slower than Fervent Wishes, but this is to take away all the inspiration I was practically oozing with.

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The harmonious cries filled the room, thrilling her and making her fall in love. It was almost like the song she loved that her mother used to sing to her as a girl. The lyrics having no words, but having power alone from the sound of them. The tears that pricked her green eyes became never-ending and had nothing at all to do with the strenuous pains of giving birth she just went through. It had everything to do that she and Jaime had brought twins into the world; twins. Two forms of life who are akin to being one; just like them. Another pair of twins for the world to come to known. They would be Lannisters by blood, stronger than the Baratheon they would have by name. They would have all that should've been Jaime and Cersei's long ago.

These twins would be royalty at birth and would continue the line of succession all the way until there was no more. The next Targaryens, she hoped; except stronger this time around. She smirked at the idea that Robert would think he would be continuing the lineage of Baratheons. He just had no idea that those thoughts of his were purely false. Lannisters, lions, will continue to rule from here on out. And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

The Queen's heart started beating triple time as her she let her hands wipe away her face. "Let me hold them." She said eagerly, preparing herself to be taken away by the beauty of her newborn children. It was nearly impossible for her to control the excitement coursing through it. It completely overshadowed the indescribable, throbbing pain between her legs, surprisingly. It was clear that her body was indeed tired because birthing two children at once was a pain, an experience, that hardly many people knew. Cersei had gotten an absolute feel of what her mother once went through when she gave birth to her and Jaime. How tired and pained her mother must've been. After doing something this powerful, she lost her life giving birth to that ugly, little imp of a brother of hers. That being said, this only intensified her hatred for him, but it numbed when Maester Pycelle slowly brought the two bundles closer to her.

He placed one in each arm. Cradling in her left was a tiny thing with a straight, blond hair that slicked itself to his little head. She knew it to be a boy as soon as she first laid eyes on him. It relieved her to know that she had played her game faithfully and did not end up having a child that was Robert's. Cersei nearly feared to see a mop of Baratheon black on a baby's head. A part of her, small and fragile that she wished didn't exist, might've believed he would treat her better if the child was his. It didn't really matter since he buried himself in the cold tundra of her heart when he said Lyanna Star's name while inside her those years ago. Nothing in this world could he do to rectify that, of that she was sure.

Her heart skipped a beat at the quick thought that what laid in her right arm was a girl. As soon as Cersei turned her golden-maned head, she froze. Upon her eyes was everything she didn't want; black of hair. Upon this tiny thing's head was a tuft of black hair that curled itself on this baby's small head. It cemented that this was a child of Robert's. Her eyes snatched themselves away from her and then looked back at her blond boy and then back at her girl. She wondered if she had somehow gotten herself pregnant with both Robert and Jaime's children at once. Was that even possible? For the twins to have two different fathers? Had she gone wrong when she was supposed to drink her moon tea months ago?

Her mind was rattling with all the scenarios and could-be's and she found herself lost. Cersei wanted to scream that her plan had only gone halfway through, but she had to compose herself because Robert had bust through the doors of the room bearing a smile she had never seen him wear before. Around his growing waist was deer pelt and then there was another over his broad shoulder. Yes, she remembered he left her to go hunting even though she warned that the children might come any day now. That thought alone served to infuriate her all over again.

"Twins?!" He sounded excited, and she knew why. Double Baratheons, he was thinking. Oh what a joy to be had. ' _Only one Baratheon for you, my dear husband. And it is the one you can keep. I don't care.'_ She only said in her mind. This girl was his, but the boy was hers, hers and Jaime's.

"Twins, my love." The smile on her face nearly cracked as he walked himself over, placing a chaste kiss on her forehead much to her surprise. Her eyes widened for a split second but then pushed the thought aside that he was happy she done her job as a breeder. That was all she was to him; his queen, and his breeder.

"Oh, he has your Lannister look." He said about the boy, and that made her lips curl up in a true smile. _'Because he's mine. He is mine and Jaime's; the only man I love has given this blessing to me.'_ As soon as Robert's thumb caressed the baby's soft cheek, he opened his eyes. Cersei gasped as to her horror that this child she thought was hers and Jaime's had the Baratheon bluest of eyes. _'No! No, that can't be!'_ She screamed inwardly in horror.

Robert's face lit up exactly at that, and he took the boy from her despite how much she wanted to snatch him back. "He has my father and mine eyes." That made him happy, overjoyed at most. Cersei bit down on her tongue, glancing down at the daughter in her arms. She had opened her eyes too and Cersei saw the beautiful shade of green. Her heart had grown soft and she found all the hatred that spurned for this child web itself away. "Oh, my girl, she is so beautiful." The queen whispered as she brought her lips to baby's forehead.

"Steffon and Cassandra, their names shall be. I want to name them after my parents." She wanted to say she hated it, despised it even. Yet, what could she do? They were his. _'And mine too.'_

Her verdant-colored eyes looked up at her husband, who looked at her almost to wait to see if she would approve.

"Yes, my love. Steffon and Cassandra are lovely and will do."


	2. Chapter One: A Year Older, A Year Wiser

**Author's Note** : Wow! So many faves and follows already. I'm so happy everyone is interested and I hope I'm going to keep your interest! I think I'm going to go to GRRM style to make it a little easier to know who's point of view it is.

This update came rather faster than I intended, but woo! I was inspired. Don't expect this too much. I did warn it might update slower and this was probably a one time thing.

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 ** _CASSANDRA_**

Any other day, it would feel like a normal day in King's Landing. It wasn't though. Today was much more special; it was the name day she shared with her twin. Normally, a girl would be excited about her seventeenth year of life. And what other way to celebrate it? With a huge party, of course. Cassandra loved parties. It always brought some sort of energy through her that made her feel much more alive than usual. She enjoyed being surrounded by people, dancing to jovial music, and eating foods her mother would never allow her to even touch or smell any regular day of the year. Her mother was so strict with her diet, telling her what meals she could and couldn't have. Most of the time, she would simply whisper in her ear that she'd grow rotund like a boar like their father with her eating habits. Despite it all, today, however, she would eat all the cakes and other pastries she wanted and watch her mother count how many she consumed until she would say that's enough.

Steffon, on the other hand, was never quite that fond of parties. He was great at keeping and starting conversations, charismatic of the sorts, but his demise was his two left feet. He couldn't dance or have the voice to carry a nice tune. He oft forgot lyrics; simple ones and all. He could probably, and without fail, recite a whole scenario of the Rains of Castamere and yet could not tell you the first line of "The Bear and the Fair maiden." Their father would rather it be that way. He found himself proud and gloating seeing how Steffon was strong or how swift and true he could handle a blade. One day, he would inherit their father's warhammer like he always dreamed.

It was accomplishments like that always left her feeling empty. Cassandra couldn't make her father proud in ways like that. While Steffon had the sword, she had a sewing needle. She had pretty dresses, and he had shiny armor. All he would say was how beautiful she was and how she truly reminded him of her grandmother Cassana. Beauty was all she had while Steffon had courage, strength, and camaraderie to his belt. It hadn't stopped her from picking up a sword and practicing with her brother during the nights when the moon would play the role of the sun. She wore gloves but the callouses would show eventually with the more she done it, no matter how much oil she rubbed on her hands.

If her father knew she was behaving anything like her baseborn sister, Mya, then he was sure to be enraged. Even though he said to love her, he said that Mya was Mya and she was Cassandra. Cassandra was a princess, born of true and noble birth of House Baratheon and House Lannister; it all meant that she had to have the grace and essence of nobiling from the top of her head and to the tip of her toes. It was such a harsh thing, and it made her feel guilty to lie and sneak, but if she were to have any sort of freedom or anything to claim her own then that was all she could do. Thank the Gods that Steffon loved her enough to never tell as well as encourage it. If their little brother Joffrey knew? By the breath of the Seven, he surely would've outed her. He liked winning favors by tattling or lying, he was just that conniving. She still loved him though, hot-tempered and all.

"Cassie." Her eyes slowly looked up to gaze at her mother. A smile, possibly strained in sight, had spread across her lips. It always worried her whenever her mother came suddenly, not alerting her handmaidens of her arrival. Her hands pressed down her dress to smooth it down, making sure it wasn't wrinkled or messy. To finish, she combed back her wavy locks with a quick comb of her fingers. It only made her mother smile, chuckle even. "I am your mother." She said, "You need not look so prim and proper in your bedchamber for me. I encourage it though, especially for today."

Feeling silly, she began to twiddle her thumbs with a lopsided grin on her face now. "Sorry." She was always awkward with propriety, and sometimes forgot a lot of the rules. Her Septa nearly had headache from just looking at her alone half the time.

"No need to be, Little Fawn." That eased her, if only for a little while. "You're hardly so little now, a woman-grown. You know what that means, don't you?" With a deep intake of breath, the princess tried to summon some sort of genuine happiness. She knew exactly what her mother meant, and it made her utterly sad.

"It means I have to prepare to be a proper bride." Her answer was said dryly, and she tried to look more enthusiastic than she felt. It took everything in her to not roll her eyes and crossed her arms to show her entire dislike about it all.

Cersei placed her hand on the side of her daughter's head to comfort her. "I know it frightens you, but that is your duty as a princess and as a woman. Women are meant to be wives and mothers. If a woman goes on and doesn't fulfill her duty then she is considered worthless. She has no respect, and claimed to have no dignity. An old maid is not a woman worth mentioning."

Her bottom lip was chewed between her teeth as Cassandra gave a rather slow nod. She very well understood, but the reality was far from welcoming. Is that why Mya wanted to marry so badly? Did she fear that she would become an old maid? Was being an old maid really such a crime?

"I understand, Mother." She truly didn't, but she had to act like she did. "Father hasn't chosen yet. Did you?"

"I was thinking about one of our cousins. Lancel, he would be a good choice, wouldn't he?" Her eyes rolled at that and she sucked her teeth. There was no way she could hide her disdain of him out of all people. Lancel? _'The bunghole,'_ She thought. He was the boy who got so antsy when she flicked his forehead once at a party. He was such a pompous jerk; totally different than the cowardly, bumbling fool he behaved like in front of her father. It must've been because her father was the King and he was his squire, but shouldn't being in the princess' good favor be as equally important?

Glancing at her mother, who rose a curious brow, Cassandra found herself trying to force a smile that ended up becoming a cringe. "I honestly don't much care for him, Mother."

"That doesn't matter; whether you like your husband or not, Cassie. What matters is that we keep the Lannister lineage. Most of all, should something happen to your brothers, the man you marry will be the one on the throne."

Never could she see that happening, so she merely shrugged it off. Joffrey and Tommen was just as protected as Steffon was. Steffon could easily take down anyone who came in between him and his birthright. Usurper heir or not, the Iron Throne belonged to no one other than him. "You think Lancel would make a good king? He can barely make a good squire. He has no wits and hardly the skill to make sound decisions regarding… anything."

"Perhaps you're right." Her chuckle had a sweetness to it, which made Cassandra calm. Her mother was still happy, of that she clearly knew. Cassandra hated when her mother was unhappy. It was like fresh hell when she was on a warpath. "Who do you think would make a good husband? A good king should the responsibility befall him?"

"Well…"

She had no idea.

Her mind was blank. At her mother's fixated gaze, she found her face starting to heat up and her mind becoming more and more muddled. It was probably sad. She had no clear image of her future and didn't even take the time to work on it. Most girls would be hoping for a good proper husband, and she hardly met any man that she knew by name that weren't too old or already married. Never in her life did she want a marriage like Lysa and Jon Arryn.

One thought did come to mind, and it made her pipe up just a bit. Her eyes were alight with a little sense of pride. "How about one of the Tyrells? Surely, we'd have something to gain marrying them, wouldn't we? They have a great source of…" Her sentence fell short by the sight of her mother's face.

The small smile that managed to stay on her mother's face before quickly withered away. Of course, her mother didn't like the Tyrells. _'Does she like anyone?'_ Cassandra couldn't help but ponder. _'Anyone that isn't us I mean...'_

"I suppose." Was her mother's sweet way of saying no. "The crippled or the knight? Surely the knight, right? I hear Ser Loras is quite handsome and knows how to wield a lance better than most boys his age. Is he smart? Does he know how to rule? That, my dear, is what we should find out."

Hardly interested, in marriage or Ser Loras, she tried to suppress a yawn. She gave a rather absent nod instead to at least pretend she was considering it. "Does that mean you're going to send spies, Mother?" It seemed likely. She would want to know everything that there is to know about him before pushing the idea of marriage forward. "If not the Tyrells, what of the Starks? Ned Stark is father's best friend and the Starks are known to be honorable—"

"No." The answer was swift and said with no room for argument. "Do you think I'd send my sweet girl to the cold, Northern country with a bunch of direwolves who starve themselves on fraudulent honor? Ned Stark claims himself honorable, but he bed a whore and brought his bastard back into their home. Your king father had enough sense not to do that."

All men make mistakes, but that kind of mistake did break before it hardeed a woman's heart. She couldn't imagine how it must've felt for Ned Stark's wife to deal with a child he made within their marriage be brought to their home. It must've hurt; everyday she looked at that child with her husband's features growing and growing more prominent as time went on. Unless she was like her mother, who pettily threatened her king father whenever one of the baseborn were even mentioned. If it weren't for her and Steffon arguing about wanting to know Mya and Edric, they probably would've never had the chance to meet them.

 _'That has nothing to do with his son, Mother.'_ She wanted to say that. She wanted to tell her mother those words exactly, but she knew an argument with ensue. So like the perfect daughter, the dutiful princess, Cassandra merely nodded her head in subservience. Cersei merely looked her over, seemingly happy with the obedient display. Whenever she could have her children in line, she seemed to be completely placated.

"How is Lord Arryn?" Shifting the conversation entirely would give her room to breathe. If she could change the course of thoughts of marriage to something a little more dire, she could wonder if there was any hope for the Lord of the Eyrie. She loved him, like a grandfather. He had suddenly taken on a much paler appearance and has become much more thinner. Her father would say that was just her mind playing tricks on her, but Cassandra believed herself perceptive.

And what of Lady Arryn? She seemed so jumpy and paranoid, and she would hide her son for days until little Robyn seemed like a figment of someone's imagination. Not that Cassandra minded, the boy was foul in temper, but he was much more easy to calm when you knew the right words or could distract him with something. She wondered if her father was just remaining blissfully ignorant because he was scared or because he was really that blind. Either way, she was worried that Lord Arryn didn't have that much time left.

"It doesn't seem he is getting any better, I'm afraid." Cassandra knew better than to think her mother cared. She didn't really like Lord Arryn much; she would call him "nosy" and fairly "guileless" when it concerned her father. Lord Arryn did very much turn the other cheek to her father's wrongs, but it was because he cared for him. And Cassandra could admit that she and her twin often did the same when it came to him.

"I want to see him." Her voice was whisper-like, low, almost afraid if her mother heard it then she would quickly refuse. Her heart ached at the idea that he was going to die. She knew he was. It was only a matter of time.

The soft sounds of heeled boots touching the marble-floor had alerted her that her mother was drawing closer. One hand rested on her left shoulder while another rest on her right. Golden hair had swung where her eyes could see as her mother lowered her head to search for her eyes. "My sweet girl, he is quite old and has already lived for so very long. You did not think he had much time, did you?"

"Lord Walder Frey has lived longer than anyone has ever expected him to." Her statement was spoken rather matter-of-factly, "So why not think someone else would be just as lucky?"

Cersei laughed at that, rather bitterly. "He should've died years ago. What the Gods have in mind keeping him alive as well as spill that disgusting seed of his all over the place is _beyond_ my comprehension." Her thumbs pressed against her shoulders, drawing small circles in efforts to comfort. "But Lord Arryn is not Walder Frey. If only the good lived as long as the bad then the world might be just as sweet as you."

The truth felt rather dark and left her feeling uncomfortable. There was a saying that the good died young, but Lord Arryn was hardly close to his years of youth. Her mother was right that he had indeed lived a long life, and maybe the Seven thought it time that he rest and give him to the Stranger.

"But if you want to see him and say what is on your mind for it might be the last…" Removing her hands from her shoulders, Cersei began to walk towards the only exit of her bedchambers. "Then I allow it. Be strong, my girl. Death is inevitable and everyone has a day where it comes to claim them."

Her mother's words echoed in her head like a lyric that one couldn't forget. It was stuck and it made her skin prickle with goose-pimples. Death seemed like such a nonexistent thing until you realize that it waited in every corner of your life, slowly inching towards you and then engulfing the people you love dearly. Death wasn't kind to everyone and nor was it patient; you could not tell it you weren't ready with a weak heart. You would think a princess never thought of death when she's so sheltered and easily kept safe with her guards all around. Sadly, Cassandra knew that death had no favorites and it came for princesses too.

With a deep inhale, she folded her hands together and pressed them against her chest. Maybe a prayer at the Sept that Lord Arryn would get a peaceful death. Something nice like in his sleep, so that he wouldn't suffer anymore. Her father would be happy to know she wished that mercy on Lord Arryn, wouldn't he? Yet, telling him that's what she wished for would only upset him. It was her and Steffon's nameday, so why destroy it with such a depressing thing as that? Suddenly, her nameday didn't have much light about it anymore. Everything was becoming a little too surreal; marriage and losing Lord Arryn.

How much more could things possibly change?

 ** _STEFFON_**

The Summer sun was beating down on his back and there were beads of sweat raining down like streams from his forehead. His long, blond hair was sticking close to the sides of his face and even the back of his neck. Yet he did not feel the slightest bit of fatigue as he held his doubled-edged, longsword in his hand. Blacktail was its name and it was a beauty made of Valyrian steel that was a shade away from obsidian in color. He received the sword when he was seven since at the age of three, Steffon had shown prodigal levels of swordfighting. His mother was against him using live steel, but his father always encouraged it. Maybe that's why Joffrey thought he was well equipped for it too, despite being much younger and less naturally skilled.

"Hold your sword a little higher, Joffrey." Using the sharp end of Blacktail, he pushed his little brother's sword just a bit higher in the position it should be. "Right there and keep it there."

"Now what?" He met his brother's bright green orbs, who was eagerly awaiting for the next bit of advice. He was always so impatient that Steffon hardly had the mind to even want to give him any lessons. Their mother would just force him anyway, and Steffon tended to do what his mother wanted… Half of the time.

"Now I want you to listen on how I tell you to keep your grip on the handle, hear me?" Rolling his eyes, Joffrey nodded in reply. "Don't let the grip be too tight or el—"

"That's just stupid." Not even a minute to spare and Joffrey was already telling him what and wasn't right, "If I keep loose then—"

"If you would just listen to me then you'll understand what I'm saying." With his swelling anger, the beaming sun with the sweltering humidity native to King's Landing all together, did not create a great combination. _"Be nicer to Joffrey, Steffon. He looks up to you."_ Cersei's voice was so clear in his head and made him swallow the little bit a pride that was trying to surface. As much as his brother irked him, the least he could do was be would make it all easier? Maybe if he threw in a compliment. A lie most likely for Joffrey did like being complimented every second of the day. "Your cross parry, my brother, was nearly perfect. If you just had a right grip on your sword, you would've completely mastered it."

The way Joffrey's eyes lit up at that with a slow smile creeping on his face meant that was the best decision. "Of course! Could you expect any less from me? A prince. It was easy, I truly think it was good as it was, but if you say it can be better… Then perhaps I'll try at it again."

Wrinkling his nose, he nodded his head rather compliantly. How does a person lie like its nothing? Just having a straight face was nearly making the muscles in his face sore. "No, my dear brother, you are a swordmaster in the making! You might just excel at it all in such a young age." Filling his head with mindless drabble of praises was certainly working and he could see the will of listening coming back from the smirk and the look in his brother's eyes. Now he should be good for another hour at this rate, "As I was saying, you must make sure your grip is not too tight. You have to find the balance between loose and tight. If your grip is steely then you're more likely to get yourself knocked down. If it be too loose then someone could knock the sword right out of your hand, you hear?"

With a nod, he was sure that his brother understood what he meant. Hopefully he did or this next part would be brother aggravating and satisfying all at once. "Now, come at me."

It didn't take the boy twice to follow up with that. The younger prince thrust the sword upward and did not pay any heed to Steffon's advice. The older prince nearly sighed as he merely flicked his sword, letting the flat-side of the blade knock the sword right out of Joffrey's hand and letting it fall on top of the grass. "You didn't listen…" His eyes narrowed, "I told you what to do with your grip."

"I did!" His brother shouted, picking up his sword with a deep frown. "You lied to me! You just wanted to knock it out of my hand!"

"And what reason would I have to do that? That would be a waste of my time and yours!" It wasn't out of the norm for them to argue, but Steffon did expect a little peace between brothers on his own name day. If only he had stayed in bed and had another round with his sister's pretty handmaiden then he wouldn't have had to worry about anything. He sheathed his sword with haste and then crossed his arms over his chest as his brother stomped away muttering what he figured to be insults and possibly threats.

His eyes espied much more better company, his twin. The smile on his face came naturally as she made her way over, lifting the skirts of her green dress, which could surely hide the grass stains if that's what she feared. Her green eyes caught their stomping little brother, who roughly brushed against her shoulder as he walked without even looking at her.

She paused at that, turning to look over his shoulder as he made his way back to the Red Keep. With her brows knitted together, she slowly turned to face him and he answered her silent and obvious question with a half smile and shrug. Cassandra knew well enough that he and Joffrey always seemed to butt heads over one matter or the other. They were both Stags, and Stags locked horns quite so often.

"I take it practice went well, hmm?" If it weren't for the giggle, he might've thought she seriously believed that.

Shaking his head, he briefly closed his eyes as he said his sarcastic remark. "It went really well, dear sister. So well that I might just be having a happy headache."

"Oh, I never heard of that!" Standing next to him, she had leaned against the weapon rack and tilted her head back. Her eyes took interest in the blue hue that was sky above them, "Seven and ten, huh? And I still feel like we're still six and ten. Not much has changed… At least not yet."

"What did you think was going to happen?" Steffon couldn't help but smile as he asked, "For the sun to disappear?"

"That sounds lovely right about now." Her sigh gave away her sadness, and he turned his head to catch sight her drooping shoulders.

"What's wrong, Cassandra?" Normally, she was the more optimistic and happier one between the two. It was easy for her to smile through each and everything. He always looked for his sister for a little sun on a rainy day, but now it was his turn to be the sun after the storm. "What bothers you?"

As she always did when troubled, she raked her fingers through her hair before grabbing a whole handful of it with a loose fist. "Mother talked about marriage today."

"Oh…" Steffon knew her sister had been dreading being married off to some stranger they never knew. He tried not to think of it either since he never been away from her for more than a couple of days. They were inseparable really and hardly knew how the other could cope without sight of each other. How does two beings that once slept in the same bed until they were five learn to live every day of their lives without seeing each other whenever they wanted? You just didn't separate twins. It was like cutting a whole person in half and telling them to live so painfully like that. Cassandra was more than his sister, she was another part of him. "Do you have any solid suitors?"

"No, fortunately." That lifted her spirits some, had her smiling if only just a little. "She suggested Lancel at first, and I told her there was just no way I could marry him."

"Ugh…" Lancel Lannister, their cousin. His blue eyes were hooded, glittering dangerously with several thoughts. If their cousin thought he ever had the chance to lay even one finger on his sister, Steffon would end him whether their mother or grandfather or great uncle liked it or not. Lancel couldn't handle Cassandra and nor could he be patient and understanding with her adventurous or stubborn nature. The two would fight, constantly, and Steffon believed she deserved better than ab unhappy marriage with a prick like that. "It was a good thing you rejected him or else I'd fear the boy would die a mysterious death."

"Your fault or mine?" The princess grinned, making him snort.

"A little bit of both, if you don't mind. I'm sure we'd make a good team even if it means teaming up to murder someone." The sound of her laugh eased him a little, making him glad to know that he could lighten the mood somewhat. "Though I wager neither one of us want to be known as a kinslayers."

"True." They both nodded in agreement at that. "Oh, I also suggested a Tyrell, but mother wasn't happy about that either. She called Lord Willas Tyrell a cripple, but she was more-so opened about Loras."

His eyes glanced at his sister from their corners as she blinked her big eyes innocently. _'She doesn't know…'_ He thought, and he wondered if he should tell her. It was only rumors but these rumors were becoming increasingly spoken of a little too often. Not just that, he had seen it with own eyes once at how strangely close their Uncle Renly and Ser Loras was. It could've been him reading for something that wasn't there, but it didn't seem that much of a stretch.

"Are you interested in marrying him?" First, he would get her opinion on it. That was safer than to just assume she wanted to be forever bound to Loras Tyrell.

"No, I'm not interested at all, but it is certainly better than the odds of marrying Lancel." He could only nod at that. _'Because Loras wouldn't even touch you.'_ For his sister to be married to a man that only lie with other men? He imagined how saddening it would become. She'd be happy at the freedom at first, but if she should ever feel the need to have children? She'd be doomed to only make bastards if she were that desperate.

"Who else? Did you think of anyone else?" Moving past Loras, he didn't want for her to convince herself that it was safe to pick him.

Wrinkling her nose, she pouted her lips in the corner. "Robb Stark."

The look on his face was of intrigue and he found himself wondering why father hadn't arranged for that in the first place. Ned Stark was infamously known to be a great friend of their father and honorable and a very capable Warden of the North. You would've thought they would have promised their eldest children to one another, except for the fact the two hadn't spoken to each other in several years. Steffon didn't know why exactly, but it had been about their differences of what transpired during the rebellion.

"He's a good match." Although there was not a thing he knew about the Stark heir, he did hear good things enough. He was smart, kind, and many girls would call him handsome. He had a rather good reputation. Surely better than Lancel and Loras' put together.

An inelegant snort escaped his sister, making him raise a curious brow. "Mother would rather kill me now than give me to a Stark. I don't know what's her problem with them, but she was not happy when I mentioned him."

Their mother didn't like anyone. If they weren't a Lannister then they were an enemy. He could recall hearing his mother tell him when he was younger that anyone that isn't them is an enemy. It sounded like such a paranoid, crazy thing to say and he often tried to forget he ever remembered her telling him that. It always did leave him questioning though why his mother felt so protective. Did she have a secret? Was she afraid of said secret being found out?

Cassandra interrupted his train of thought as she crossed her arms. "I have a feeling that mother doesn't like anyone and she'll just want me to marry of our own blood. She keeps talking about keeping the Lannister lineage." Her green eyes met his blues, "She might marry you to one of our cousins too."

"By the Old Gods, I'd rather die than marry any of them." The prince never liked when a family stayed within their bloodline. It made it much harder for you to escape your family and Steffon most certainly wanted to escape a whole lot of the Lannisters. Many of them were too pretentious and hardly did he have anything in common with them except their shared blond hair and their blood ties. In some ways, he envied his sister for looking much more Baratheon than he did.

"I am a little curious of Robb Stark though." That surprised him. Cassandra never seemed to be happy when the talks of marriage were hinted, but now she took her interest in a Stark.

"And why is that?" A smirk on his face grew, a little happy to see his sister a little happy about something.

She shrugged her small shoulders, "Well… Mother hates the Starks and you know I like doing things she hates." The air became filled with his laughter as she chuckled along with him, "And because he is a Stark. Everyone speaks so highly of them and father goes on and on about how great Lord Stark is. So I'm curious, but that doesn't mean I want to marry him. I hardly know him."

Steffon found her reasoning sound and enough, "So why not tell father? That would infuriate mother much more."

"Oh yes, she'll turn _so_ red in the face!" Wrapping her arms in the middle, her eyes crinkled as she gave out a hearty laugh as the image came to mind. "She'd get her revenge somehow though. Mother's vengeance always come back to bite you in some way. Speaking of which, that also means you need to stop sleeping with… oh, I don't know, my _handmaiden_."

All the lightness of the atmosphere around them immediately dropped and his laughing face turned into one of stone. Crossing his arms, he sucked his teeth. Why should he gave up Josselyn? Josselyn was a good distraction, a girl that was his friend and his comfort during the stressful times. Steffon could admit that there was no love between them though. He didn't love anyone that wasn't a sword or family for several reasons.

"There's just fun between Josselyn and I."

" _Fun_ that could lead into _her_ getting _harmed_ , Steffon." The way she stressed it showed just how severe the situation was. She gave him no smile, just a hardened stare and a serious frown. "Mother will think that Josselyn will try to get herself with child and you know how mother feels about bastards. She'll hurt Josselyn and I don't want anything to happen to her or you. You'd think it all fun and games now until it all goes uncontrollably left."

"She drinks her moon tea, sister. I know because she shows me." He was sure that Josselyn didn't want a child just as much as he didn't. "Let me have my fun until I'm forced to marry a woman I've never even seen before. Father told me is looking to fix our ties with Dorne, which means I might have to marry Princess Arianne Martell. She's a bit older, but I hear Dornish women are beautiful and exciting; in and out of bed."

"That's disgusting. We're twins and all but I don't want to hear about you fucking around with women." Mushing his face away playfully while pushing herself off the weapon's rack, Cassandra smoothed the creases of her gown. "You're so reckless, you know that? There's too many people waiting for you to fall dead and screw up and you act as if you don't even care. I worry for you, Steffon. I really, really do."

It did hurt to hear how concerned his sister was for him. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and brought her close, laying his head atop of hers. "My sweet, sweet Cassie. What would I do without such a doting sister? I'd fear I'd be even more reckless and foolish." He teased, making her elbow his side. She pouted as he laughed and began to stomp away, heading in the direction that he knew she would go. She would be heading off to see Jon Arryn before the party started. Steffon let out a sigh, knowing very well he wanted to see the dying Lord of the Eyrie too.

Glancing back at Blacktail, he wondered if what Cassandra said was true. Were there people really waiting for him to die? Is that why his father stressed to have taste testers before he even ate his dinner or take a sip of his wine? Is that why his father wanted to hurry him to have a bride? Surely Steffon could fight all the odds against him, big or small. The Iron Throne was meant to be his and he would have it through blood and sweat like his father did if he couldn't have it by right.

"She worries too much." He said aloud to himself, nudging away the small whispers of doubt that swam through his mind. Cassandra always was a little paranoid and protective of him, even though he well adept to take care of himself.

 _ **CERSEI**_

Since she was a girl, Cersei had never been much too fond of parties. The whole act of it always left her tired and dreadfully bored. Well, maybe that had been a lie. Cersei did like parties until she knew the meaning of them as she grew older. It became less and less about fun and more about which Lord wanted to marry their child to and what Lord wanted to lay with a certain woman for whatever reason. It became less about the celebration and more what was to be gained. Since then, parties didn't mean anything to her except a headache and a time she must fix her face into a pleasant one for an opportunity was fresh for the picking.

In the center of the Great Hall, her daughter was dancing as she always did. Cassandra had a way to command all eyes on her when she danced; she was naturally gifted at what Cersei believed to be a rather useless skill. Her feet moved like her body was an extension of the music and that the bard was singing just for her. Her eyes would hold a bursting color of life as her smile completely lit up the room brighter than the torches on the wall and the candles in the chandelier.

She was happy for her though. It was the seventeenth year since she first inhaled the air of life and she was spending it with a smile on her face. The least her own mother could do was be happy, and Cersei promised to try to be just a fraction of it. Her eyes then roamed to look for her king husband, not out of want but out of need. She needed to see what he was up to, and she suspected it was the usual. Her verdant eyes caught Robert surprisingly at her side, teeth sinking into some roasted ham. His eyes were fixated on their daughter though and she could see that he was happy about her happiness.

"She's grown so much." Although his mouth was disgustingly full, Cersei could bother to ignore that fact for the conversation at hand. Robert hardly had any matters because he didn't care how anyone saw him. 'He was the King' he would say, and he could as 'damned well pleased.'

"Yes, she has. Steffon too." Her eyes then searched for her son, who was dancing with her Uncle Kevan's daughter, Janei. She was a few years younger than her twin children, but she was certainly becoming a beautiful young woman. Her hair of honey-blonde was of medium length and braided finely sweet side braids. It wasn't too long, just about at the middle of her back, and her eyes were big, round, and a leaf shade of green. Her face was also round, still holding her baby fat, but she was still beautiful. Cersei could only imagine the beauties made if she and Steffon were married. Perhaps Joffrey would've been better suited for her due to their ages.

"Steffon has been a man since the age of three." Her eyes rolled at that, the taste on her tongue quite bitter. "I can hardly remember him ever behaving like a boy."

"I suppose you don't since you placed so many expectations upon him since birth." Taking a sip of her wine to wash away the bitterness she tasted, Cersei closed her eyes as she felt the sweet burn hit the back of her throat and down. "Steffon rarely had the time to do anything a boy should have."

"And he turned out just fine and responsible!" Of course Robert didn't see any wrong in it. _'A child should be a child regardless.'_ She thought, and she wished she had been a bit more pushy when it came to Steffon. It was too late, seventeen years had gone, but she could still protect Cassandra.

"Responsible, yes." That was mostly true. Steffon was responsible and tended to do the right thing, more than she could say about anyone in this family, including herself. He was a bit sloppy when it came to his own desires, like the sleeping with his sister handmaiden from time to time. He thought she didn't know anything about it, but Cersei knew. She only pretended that she didn't because she thought it would eventually stop. Now that she was aware that Steffon couldn't keep his hands off the little whor, she would do something about it so that there weren't any accidents. If only he satiated his needs with a whore from a brothel. It would've made it all a little easier.

Robert wiped his greasy hands with a napkin while she hardly touched the food on her plate. All her appetite was nearly nonexistent. All she kept thinking was how grown her children had become, and how her daughter would leave her any day now. She would have to wed and move with her husband's family. If only she liked Lancel better then she could stay close to hearth. "Have you thought of who Steffon will be marrying?" Curious, she placed down her cup of wine as she waited for his answer.

"I was hoping to make things right with those Dornish. I doubt they've ever gotten over their fucking Targaryens and what happened to Elia and her children." Her eyes narrowed at what he was alluding to and her mouth became a tight, thin line. "The Martell girl, she might be able to fix that."

"The girl is seven years his senior!" It took everything in her to keep her voice low, to make sure she didn't attract unwanted attention. "She's too old for him. I also hear she has rather whorish ways. My son will marry a maid, not some woman that's been spreading her legs all over Dorne."

The frown on his face told her that he didn't like what she said, but she did not care. Cersei was looking for the best interest of her boy, her oldest boy. "Does it matter? She doesn't have bastards and she's a princess. Who fucking cares who she fucked or when she did?!"

"It does matter, Robert. It matters to me!" The Lannister Queen made it clear, her eyes burning strong with her anger. She promised herself to not argue with him during her children's party but it was Robert. They argued like it was all they could do around each other. It was their only way of communicating.

"Fine, forget the Martell girl. Who do you think would be a better suited wife? A future queen?" Looking back over to Steffon, surrounded by empty-headed girl with hearts in their eyes, she tried to think who would be best to stand beside him. No one had come to mind. Her son was just too good for any woman in this entire kingdom. If things had been right, he would've been the son of Rhaegar. Yes, he truly would've been a beautiful prince of Dragon and Lion's blood, better than the Stag half of him. Even without that Dragon's blood, he was much too good for anyone because he was _her_ son. All her children were better than anyone on this Seven green earth.

Tilting her head in thought, her eyes kept their fixated gaze as Steffon mouthed words she couldn't quite hear or make out. From the looks of it, he was giving compliments to the lot of those girls because their eyes became moist and their lips perked upward at their corners. A huge flirt he was, almost if not more than charming as his uncle Jaime. He knew what a woman wanted to hear. Well, Jaime only knew what _she_ wanted to hear.

"I'll think about it." She cut the conversation there for now since she was too interested at the fact that Lancel was asking for Cassandra's hand for a dance. Cersei smiled at this for she whispered some words into the boy's ear earlier to get on her daughter's good side. Cassandra clearly hated him, she knew that much from this morning, but relationships were easy to mend. She could sway Cassandra for she was still quite a bit guileless when it came to men. Cersei was only sure that Lancel was mean to her because he liked her. Men thought that was cute sometimes.

Because she was so courteous, Cassandra accepted it, but the frown on her face was desperately fighting to be shown. Her little girl twirled, making her skirts rise just a little above her ankles and show her heeled shoes. She should thank the Septa for making Cassandra so good with music. It seemed all the teaching paid off greatly because there were many other men in line to dance with her. Most men loved a true lady and they certainly loved the prancing little fawn that was her daughter.

Smirking with pride, she took another swig of the good, red wine. Robert stood, halfway drunk, and raised his gold goblet high in the air. "Attention!" He shouted, his voice booming and bouncing off the walls of the large room. He was so loud that he didn't need to command their attention for a second time; the music instantly stopped and all chatter became quiet. Everything was silent as the dead for Robert. "I'd like to make a toast to my twins! My pride and joys." His cheeks were red and his smile made his face seem even redder.

Steffon and Cassandra were given cups of wine and found their way to each other, standing right at the center of the floor as they faced their father. They looked so different, hardly like they were twins, but the shape of their noses and right around the eyes did they look completely resemble each other. Their dramatic contrasts of hair really made them individuals unlike her and Jaime.

"My gift to my son, Steffon, is what I've been waiting to give him for so many years." Raising his free hand, his fat fingers pointed to a servant at the far left that had something in their arms. It was cloaked so that nobody could see it and Cersei found herself wondering just what it was.

The servant ambled his way over to Steffon, standing right before him now. Steffon looked excited but tried to hold it in with a pinched face. As soon as the man lifted the cloak that laid atop of what was in his arms, Steffon face immediately unloosened and broke out into a smile.

 _'I should've known…'_ She thought, a exasperated sigh escaping her as it was a war hammer. It was Robert's war hammer, the one he killed Rhaegar Targaryen with at the Ruby Ford. It seemed to have been greatly fixed and looked entirely new, and Steffon looked as if he could shed a tear at how happy he was to receive it. Cersei supposed she should be happy for him, but her eyes couldn't help to look to see Joffrey's blatant anger. Her precious golden boy was furious and there was nothing she could do to cool his temper. Joffrey always loathed at being second best to his brother, but what could be done if he was the younger?

"Father… I… I don't know what to say." Her eldest boy stammered, picking up the war hammer with a bit of struggle but trying to summon the strength so that he didn't drop it.

"Thank me, boy! Do you know how hard it is to part with that thing? I loved that thing like I love my own life!" A few laughs erupted, and Steffon was grinning so hard. "But it belongs with you now. I have no need for it anymore. You're my heir, my son, my shining boy. This war hammer belongs with you, Steffon."

Cassandra used her petite fingers to wipe away the one tear that rolled down her twin's face. Such a good daughter and an even good sister she was, Cersei thought. "Thank you, Father. I feel so happy and blessed to be given this. I won't let you down, not now or ever."

"That's what I like to hear!" There was an applause, smiling faces and envious eyes. That's how it always was in the sea around royalty. Cersei clapped with effort for her boy, and she could say that she was a little proud of Robert for being so good to their son. "And to my daughter, I'd never forget you, my little girl."

The way she suddenly straightened, eyes big with surprise, made Cersei smile. She was a little awkward at times, but that was made her unique. A servant from the right side of the Great Hall made his way over, almost like the first with something cloaked over the gift. Cersei rose a brow, wondering just what Robert knew to give a girl. It didn't take long before she figured it all out.

Laying atop of red, plush pillow was a circlet. From the looks of it, it was made of pure gold and was designed almost like a laurel. In the center was a marigold designed flower with a jade gem in the middle. It was beautiful and she could see how entranced Cassandra was by the sight of it. Robert left the high table they sat at and made his way over to her; a bit sluggishly from how drunk he was. Once he stood before her with the servant out of the way, he smoothed down her dark hair with care before picked up the circlet and placed it on her head with steady hands.

Cassandra truly looked beautiful and the jade in the center truly brought out the green of her eyes. Cersei was happy that Robert went as grand for her as he did their son. Cassandra's eyes were now pooling with tears, but they were crinkling from the shy giggles that kept leaving her lips.

"You've grown to be so beautiful, but I suppose I'd have to thank your grandmother for that." Trying her best not to snort, she proceeded to smile since there were eyes on her. "More and more of each day you look just like her and your mother when I first met her too." A much more innocent her that believed she was going to love her husband and proud to be Queen. Cersei hoped that Cassandra was never as foolish as she was when she first laid eyes on Robert with her husband-to-be. "That's why I gave you this since it was once my mother's. She would've been so happy to have met you, Cassandra. You're such a good child with a big heart." Like a good father, he kissed the top of her head, right in her mane of black hair like his own. Just like she did as a girl, she jumped up and wrapped her lanky arms around his neck and held him close.

"Thank you so much, Father. I will cherish this gift forever." If there was one thing Cersei could say about her husband, it was that he was indeed a good father. He loved their children, all of them. He then came back towards the high table and sat next to her, face still holding his smile. Cassandra and Steffon turned to each other, speaking happily about their gifts.

"I would like to give my gifts!" Her mood completely darkened as her eyes shifted towards the Imp. He got himself out of his seat and waddled his way over with his short and stumpy legs. With a sneer, she watched with sharp eyes as he stood before her children. "I've gotten you two presents I'm sure you'll both enjoy." Cassandra parted her lips, about to say something, but Tyrion stopped her by raising a finger. "And before you ask, no, it is not a book."

She chuckled at that, making Cersei believe that her daughter was truly going to ask that. Her brother always liked to read and thought everyone enjoyed the boring activies he did. Like they weren't young and wanted something they could actually use. An overpower of history long past dead would do nothing for them. With a clap of his small hands, the doors opened and two servants came out, but with collective gasps, Cersei pushed her chair back and stood in complete horror.

In the arms of those servants were cubs, Hrakkar cubs; white lions that weren't even native to Westeros. Cassandra and Steffon gasped at the sight of them as the servants stood before them to hand them the beasts. Cassandra immediately grabbed one without hesitance. The animal did not harm her like Cersei feared, but instead pawed gently at her chest and brought its filthy tongue to lick her face.

"Uncle Tyrion, this is amazing!" She nearly screamed with joy, jumping in place like a little girl that was given a new doll. It was no toy, but a dangerous animal and Cassandra was old enough to realize that. Instead, she acted as if she didn't even care about that. How could her children be so blind to realize how dangerous these animals were and how it weren't safe for them to have?

Steffon handed his war hammer to a servant for him to hold and took his Hrakkar cub with ease. "Where did you get them, Uncle?" He bothered to ask, letting his hand glide against the soft fur between the cat's ears.

"A good friend of mine is a trader, and sometimes deals with animals from time to time. He told me he was given a litter of Hrakkar, and so I thought… I haven't given my niece or nephew a proper gift yet, so why not give them pets?" His head slowly turned to look at Robert, "I know they are Baratheons, my king, but imagine trying to get a stag into the castle."

Robert laughed as if it were a funny joke, but she was still infuriated that he dared give her children beasts that could maul to death them as they slept. "They are wild animals! You could've just gotten them cats!" Her voice was full of anger, and what boiled her blood more was that he could tell that this was going to be her exact reaction.

"I know, I know, but they can be domesticated, sister. With good training, they can be like any other house pet." Tyrion flashed her that stupid smile she loathed before looking back at Steffon and Cassandra. "You two ought be extremely responsible when it comes to them, but I have a man that knows to keep them to the heel if you two don't do what you are going to promise me right now that you're going to do."

"I promise, Uncle Tyrion. I'll take care of it properly." As eagerly as she said it, Cassandra brought the lion's face close to her own to nuzzle it. This had gone too far and now there was no rejecting it because then her children would look at her evil and hate her if she told them they couldn't have them. Tyrion would be looked at so favorably that they would never listen to her again. And Cersei never wanted that.

Steffon kept petting his, love within every stroke he gave it. It was hard for him to visually show how much he cared for something, but he was obvious about this Hrakkar.

"I'm not all too fond about having these dangerous animals in the Castle." Robert told them sternly, "But if the Targaryens could have dragons, why can't my children have lions?"

And that was it.

The Red Keep had two Hrakkar cubs within its walls.

 _ **CASSANDRA**_

The bells kept ringing and sometimes Cassandra thought they would never stop. Her hands rose to cover her ears, wishing it would all stop and all the she would be able to hear was the ocean waves crashing against the shore from her window. She knew what the bells had meant, she just didn't want to believe it. Her eyes squeezed themselves closed, trying to drown out the sound that was impossible to even ignore. Her Hrakkar crawled itself out of its little bed and made its way over towards Cassandra's bed. Using the sharp claws, it climbed itself up the blankets until it landed atop of her bed. In a trollop, it made its way to her lap and nestled right in it. Ryia, she named her lion, seemed to have known how she must've felt or that's what Cassandra liked to think. Ryia kept meowing and nuzzling her face against her stomach, demanding nothing of her except closeness.

Scooping Ryia into her arms, the cub laid against her with its bright blue eyes staring straight at her green. "Lord Arryn is dead, Ryia." Her voice was whisper soft, trying to keep tears from falling as she cradled the animal in her arms. "I wish you could've met him. I think he would've been just a bit scared to meet you though, but he would've liked you... I think."

One of the dual doors of her bedchamber creaked open, and she ended up placing Ryia back in her lap. Her eyes narrowed slightly in annoyance since there was no knock, but they softened upon the sight of her brother. She looked a mess. She was still in her nightdress, her hair was unkempt, and her eyes were red from crying. She didn't want anyone to see her like this not even her brother, but she wasn't given much a choice.

As he walked over, Silver scampered at his feet in order to keep up with his long strides. Silver and Ryia, what opposing names did they give their lions. It was like they were further trying to separate themselves from one of another, even through their lion siblings. He named his lion Silver because it was the color of the lion's eyes, and she named her lioness Ryia because of her kind nature. Despite them being twins, their thinking pattern were not exactly on the same page.

He took a seat at the edge of her bed, his large hand taking her petite one and giving it a squeeze. "I came to see how you were. I'm sure you know what's going on." Cassandra smiled at his caring nature, and ended up shrugging her shoulders for her reply.

"I suppose I'm alright." She told him, halfway not believing herself. She truly wanted to lie in bed and shed just a few more tears and get it over with. "I knew it was going to happen, but so soon?" Steffon nodded understandingly, giving her hand another gentle squeeze. "I'm glad I spent time with him yesterday. I didn't know that would ever be the last time I saw him alive." Swallowing the sob that was trying to climb its way out of throat, she forced herself to smile. "He told me a lot of things I needed to hear."

Silver laid himself down at Steffon's feet, lounging while absently swinging his tail. Ryia seemed to have noticed her brother's company but didn't want to leave Cassandra just yet. "I know what I'm about to say sounds… well, mad…" Arching a brow, Cassandra gave her brother an inquisitive stare. "I have a feeling that Lord Arryn didn't die… normally."

She blanched, her eyes becoming wide. She quickly looked to see if the doors to her room were closed and was relieved to see they definitely were. What Steffon was implying shouldn't… or more like couldn't be heard by just anyone.

"That's a strong accusation, Steffon." Keeping her voice low, the Baratheon girl leaned forward just a bit to keep the conversation more strictly between the both of them. Who knows who would press their ear to do the door? And her mother had a habit of just walking in whenever she felt like it. Even Josselyn couldn't know of this. This had to be kept between the two of them. "Why would someone want to kill him?"

"I don't know." His blond hair shook wildly as he moved his head, obviously having doubts. "It's just…" Sighing, he tried to articulate his thoughts, "Uncle Stannis and Lord Arryn were acting rather strange for the past couple of months. They were do a lot of walking around in the city and asking a lot of strange questions."

"What kind of questions?" Her interest piqued, Cassandra wanted to know what lead her brother to think a murder is what happened. Part of her was scared to find out because finding out meant that she was dangerously involved in what happened. If she kept it secret, she was sure it would kill her inside that if she found out he was murdered that she never told anyone, especially their father.

"I don't know, I just heard they were strange." Irked that he didn't know the questions exactly, she sighed and leaned away from him to rest against her pillows. "Uncle Stannis is leaving today too. He won't even stay for the funeral. And I think Lady Arryn left last night. Don't you see? Something strange is happening around here."

Her husband just died, why would she want to run away? That is if she feared he was murdered too? Perhaps, Lady Arryn knew who did it and wanted to protect herself and her son? Slipping her hand out of Steffon's hold, she combed both hands through her hair in distraught. "I don't know what's going on and I don't like any of it." Cassandra didn't want to believe foul play was involved. Murder? In their own home? No, she didn't want to believe it because then she'll be scared of who the Stranger will come for next.

"Don't be so cowardly, Cassie." Steffon lectured, "That's not like you at all." Meekly, she looked up at him and then averted her gaze, almost ashamed. He was right, it wasn't like her. She was never this cowardly. Usually in the face of adversity, Cassandra would try to fight through it but she couldn't find the will to fight anything as of late; Lord Arryn's death, talks of marriage, leaving her family, and now a possible murderer in their home? How could she even think straight let alone be brave right now? "Now that he's dead, Father has to get a new hand."

"Do you think he'll choose Grandfather? He was the Hand before… for the Mad King, that is." Tywin was said to be a good Hand of the King, so their father would choose him right? Her face scrunched up in confusion when Steffon shook his head.

"No, I think he's going to look North." A sudden realization came through her, and her whole body became rigid. "I think you might be able to meet Robb Stark after all."

* * *

 **A/N :** And the next chapter is the start of the first season. It is going to be a buummmpy ride.


	3. Chapter Two: Lion Meets Wolf

**Author's Note** : This chapter is longer than I intended.

* * *

 _ **STEFFON**_

It was still Summer, nowhere near Autumn, but it felt like had Winter already crept its way in. The chill of the air would bite at his face, and yet Steffon didn't feel at all bothered by it. In fact, he rather liked it. It was a fresh change away from the warm weather he always known. There was not a trace of heat in the air and not one bit of sun to make him sweat from just moving an inch or not at all. The eternal Summer that stayed in King's Landing was boring to him now. He wanted to get a feel of the cold, Northern lands of the country that his mother considered too harsh. He wanted see what Summer snow was like and how it felt on one's skin. What did snow even look like anyway? He just heard it was white, fell from the sky, and stuck to the ground in blankets. Steffon wanted to see it for himself for the first time. Hopefully, he'd be so lucky during their stay. It was rather childish, possibly the boy that still remained within his heart, that prayed to the Old Gods that he'd get the chance.

Glancing down at his horse, Storm Runner, he gently stoked along the black stallion's neck in efforts to calm the animal's rising temper. Storm never liked riding slow, he was a horse that loved speed, which was why Steffon gave him Storm Runner as a name. If only he had a few foods the horse liked to stall his frustration then he wouldn't have to worry about him speeding off and getting him to slow down. It was probably the worst decision on his part for choosing him, but he had hard time deciding to leave him back at home. Whenever the occasion called for a horse, he just had to choose the one he had since he was ten. "Calm down, boy. Now isn't the time…" He kept his voice low and calm. For a minute, he thought that Storm understood because he seemed to cave in. Storm instantly became less hostile and galloped comfortably, "Well, that was fast…" Steffon mumbled, shrugging his shoulders with acceptance. He wouldn't question it.

"Are you talking to yourself, Steffon?" Leave it to his twin to take her boredom out on him with her teasing. He didn't mind it though, he enjoyed her play, and he shifted his attention towards her as she rose her thick eyebrow curiously. "You know what they say about people that talk to themselves…"

"That they're unfortunate to have a sister who doesn't mind her own affairs?" The sudden change of her expression made him snort before busting out in full blown laughter. He could tell she didn't expect for her joke to backfire and now she was pouting like a child of Tommen's age. "Don't worry, I like when you mind my affairs… Sometimes. Just don't be antsy when I mind yours."

With a roll of her green eyes, she wrinkled her nose in annoyance. "You always mind mine, my sweet brother. I hardly think there are any secrets between us because of our mutual snooping."

Even though all the bones in his body became completely stiff, Steffon kept a completely straight face. He knew a great lot of things that Cassandra didn't, which would count as secrets since he kept them to himself. The only secrets he kept were to spare her feelings, not to intentionally keep them from her for no reason. The corner of his lips worked themselves upwards to make a smile, "We know everything each other knows." It made him want to cringe for lying, but he kept telling himself it was for the best. That it was for her.

She smiled her happy smile, making him feel much worse. Steffon liked to think he was a good person, a good brother, but what brother keeps secrets from his sister? His twin? A brother who doesn't want to see her hurt, he reasoned to himself rather weakly. A brother that loves her more than anything on this Earth and doesn't want to see her cry. There was nothing more he hated in this world than to see his sister so torn up. Steffon always made it his mission to protect her with every bit of himself as long as he possibly could.

Pushing the negative thoughts aside, he noticed her horse was behaving much more better than his was. It left him feeling a bit envious. Phantom was much more easier to tame and you could bribe it with rubs and apples to make him be so pleasant. She had received the horse from their Uncle Stannis on her fourteenth name day after she cried and cried to their mother about letting her keep practicing her horse riding. He could see that their mother wished she didn't let her until this day because they argued for a whole hour before the trip began.

Their mother didn't like the idea that Cassandra wanted to ride and not stay in the Wheelhouse with herself, Joffrey, and the little ones. Cassandra liked to be the unconventional kind of princess that made her own rules whilst still being dutiful all the same. Cersei always hated when she couldn't control his sister and keep her dainty and meek. Cassandra too busy admired their father to even think that she couldn't do what she wanted while doing what was required. You could say it made Steffon love his sister much more because she was more than just a sister, she was his best friend. The one he could sword fight with without arguing about simple gripping. It was a shame it had to be kept secret. If his sister ever wanted to be a knight, he was sure she'd be on the path to be just as great as their Uncle or Barristan Selmy if she had the luxury and been a man.

Joffrey should've been riding with them if not Cassandra. As a prince, it showed a little more masculinity to be atop of a horse as if to outwardly dare for someone to come at them and for people to see their prince strong as well as proud. Their little brother wasn't exactly fond of the animals. He'd rather hunt them and do torture-fun than befriend them or use them for good purpose. Joffrey could ride a horse, but he could've been perfect at it if it weren't for his cruel streak. He wouldn't be outshone by his own older sister that could perform a whole tourney with good control if allowed. It was embarrassing really, which was probably why their own father probably didn't pay much attention to him, sadly enough.

Steffon could say that Joffrey was the lucky one because their father had relaxed expectations of him. It was because Steffon was the oldest, named after their paternal grandfather, and the Crown Prince that their father expected very, very little mistakes. If Steffon made just one, he'd see the crestfallen look and then hear a whole lecture on why he should be better. He would remind him of how this and that son was better or how men before him were better at certain things. He heard speeches like that before he learned to use a pot while Joffrey heard it less and did not have eyes constantly watching his every movement. It wasn't fair. Joffrey should've went through the same as he, but he was the second boy. So the expectations weren't that high.

"Steff, what's wrong?" Blinking his eyes back to focus, he saw the worried look on his twin's face.

He smiled at her concern before shaking his head, "It's nothing. Don't worry about me." If he didn't change the subject, she would pry, and so he took a glance of their lions and decided to move her attention towards them. "I see Silver and Ryia aren't too fond of your idea." His eyes pointed down to the knapsack strapped to Phantom where the Hrakkars stuck out their little heads to gaze out what was around them. Silver was a restless thing, and he could see the boredom and need to stretch his legs so evident on his face.

"They can't keep up with the horses." She huffed, obviously a little hurt that they weren't appreciative of her idea. It wasn't like they understood and Steffon knew that she had known that. "Mother knows best!"

"Calling yourself mother to the kittens now, are we?" Steffon looked over to their uncle, whose horse trot a bit forward to keep up with them. He was now in between them, a half smile on his face. "I'm sure they appreciate all your motherly duties."

"Quiet, Uncle. They be kittens now but you'll cower at the sight of them full grown." Cassandra bit at him, smiling playfully.

"I don't doubt that." Jaime smirked as he sighed with faux fear, "Seeing full grown lions in our castles walls might have me shaking in these golden boots of mine if I hadn't met lions before. It's been such a long time since my last encounter with one though... You'll have to protect me, my dear niece."

Their uncle didn't fear anything. Why should he? He was one of the best swordsman in Westeros currently. Lions wouldn't scare him, Steffon was sure of that. "Hush. Just because I didn't birth them that doesn't mean I can't be their mother." The look on their Uncle's face was rather one of thought, a glaze over his eyes like a golden shield to hide his inner thoughts. It left Steffon wondering what such a look meant, but it all washed away quickly when his uncle spoke again.

"I still don't think it wise that Tyrion gave you lions for pets." Jaime seemed rather concerned, almost as much as their mother did. Steffon didn't really see the big deal. Many people had animals other than dogs and cats as pets, he even heard a rumor that the Starks got themselves direwolves after their House Sigil. There were still Lions in Casterly Rock too. There were Lannisters before them that had lions for companions. "But I see you two are happy. It makes my presents look rather poor."

"I enjoy your present, Uncle Jaime." Nothing could beat the Hrakkars or his father's war hammer, but the golden lance he received was great. "I'm certainly going to use it when we have another tourney, which I assume will be for our new Hand." Their father loved arranging tourneys and he was quite frustrated when he couldn't arrange one for their birthday. Their mother convinced him not to and with Jon Arryn's death, it didn't feel so right to celebrate. But he had one for his sixteenth last year and Joffrey's thirteenth name day was quite memorable.

Steffon didn't necessarily know what Uncle Jaime had gotten Cassandra for their birthday. He hadn't asked and she hadn't outright told him. "Did I tell you what Uncle Jaime gave me for my name day, Steff?" Just as soon as he thought it, it was mentioned. Shaking the strangeness of the coincidence, he shook his head in reply. "He got me a doll."

"A doll?" Steffon repeated incredulously, "Why a doll?"

"I didn't know what to get her!" It was obvious he felt silly about it because he got so defensive immediately. Jaime rolled his eyes and then kept them averted, possibly out of embarrassment more than anything. "She used to like when I got her them when she was little."

"When I was little, Uncle Jaime." She repeated dully, "I'm not a little girl anymore. I'm not that child that used to pull your hair and call it straws."

Steffon snorted, remembering that. She thought his hair so golden that it was akin to hay and tried to feed the horses with it. Their mother scolded her, laughing as she did, as Jaime looked into the mirror to see if she left him a bald spot in his head.

"I didn't know what else to give you." Cassandra reached towards their uncle, patting his hand at that was holding the reins.

"I know, I know." Cassandra tried to calm him sweetly, "It is pretty though. I'm going to treasure it. It might be the last one you'll ever give me."

Cassandra used to play with dolls until she was nine. She got bored with them as soon as she saw his sword lessons from the training yard. Their mother use to bar her from seeing such things, thinking too much violence was unbefitting before a princess' eyes, but Steffon could tell that seeing swords clashing together made her feel alive. The dolls grew dust on the shelves and Cassandra became more interested in playing with swords.

Their conversation had slowly faded as he turned to look at their father, leading the cavalcade with the Kingsguard around him. Steffon sunk his heels just a bit into the horse to make it trot in order catch up and ride alongside him. As soon as he was next to him, his father turned to look at him and immediately smiled. "My boy," Steffon always enjoyed hearing his father say that; it was always said with pride, and nothing felt better than to be praised by his king father. "How do you feel? It's pretty chilly, ain't it? The air is just biting at ya every chance it gets."

"You're telling me." Although he had furs draping his shoulders, large and thick, they had not completely killed the cold. It was an experience that he was enjoying though, probably much to his father's surprise. "I like it though. It's different than King's Landing muggy air."

His father laughed at that, nodding in agree. "The North is always cold, but I always found a way to warm myself. With a drink in one hand and my cock in-between a woman's legs. That's the quickest way to get yourself warm."

With a snort, he didn't find himself surprised by that. "Fucking and drinking. Is that the only fun that the Northerners have? Not saying that I don't like it, but I'm sure they get bored of doing just that. The Warden of the North must have plenty to do to entertain himself since he's a bit too honorable to be drunk and breeding more bastards."

That was supposedly the stain on his honor; his bastard son that everyone seemed to know to be named Jon Snow. Steffon never saw the big deal, probably because he had bastard siblings of his own; some that he hadn't even known. He loved Mya and Edric and he also wanted to meet the others he didn't know. It seemed like the bigger the family was, the more Steffon wanted to know them. There weren't a lot of Baratheons like there were Lannisters and Steffon wanted to change that. If he were king, he'd give all his bastard siblings the Baratheon name so that their legend could live on.

"Back when Ned and I were just boys, he would tell me that they had their own tourneys, better than ours. It's more manly than fighting with those sticks in jousting, they used their swords. Their god damn fists! It got brutal. Someone got something of theirs chopped off once in a bloody while!"

Now that was interesting. Steffon did like jousting, much more than his father did, but melee indeed sounded more fun. Steffon was a swordsman and showing skill and footwork and strategy was a way to get one's name carried in the wind. He wondered if that could be arranged during their visit and how the Stark boys would fair against him. Maybe it had been the arrogance in him that thought he'd win it hands down. Steffon had never lost a fight and learned how to use a sword at such a young age. He was taught by the best swordsmen that were still alive after all.

"Sounds fun, I'd like to give that a go." His father nodded, like he knew that would be his reaction. "Have you ever fought in their tourneys? I don't imagine a war hammer would've been accepted."

"No, I haven't, but damn do I want to right now!" Robert laughed, a gleam in his eye showing his excitement. There was still blood that boiled for battle still in him. It was probably why he was so miserable as king because there was not a war to be fought. It was also probably why he was so eager to find the Targaryens that remained; he loved to fight, at any cost.

Before Steffon could further comment, he noted the rather sudden change in his father's expression. His eyes tried to read his face and couldn't come up with a single reason of what his father was going to say. It left him uneasy, if only just a little. "I was thinking, Steffon…" Keeping his eyes on his father, he watched as his king father beckoned him to ride a little bit further so that they were far away from the Kingsguard around them. It was an obvious motion of space for a much serious conversation. Normally they wouldn't have allowed it, but they possibly understood that this was to remain between the both of them. "I was thinking of abdicating and giving you the throne."

"What?!" He didn't mean to raise his voice, he was far too shocked of what his father just admitted to him then. His eyes were as wide as round shields and his heart was beating much faster than it normally should. He swallowed thickly, blinking repeatedly in his shock as he shook his head in confusion. "But why? You think I'm ready to be king? But why would you want to give it up? Why not die as king?"

Steffon would love to be king, he always wanted to be. He was raised to be. It was his birthright. It was his future. Why would he turn it away? But he had to know the reason why his father was deciding this. Why would he think it right while trying to get Ned Stark as his Hand? Did he want to give him the throne while making Ned Stark the Hand of the King as an assurance that Steffon would do right as king? Did he not trust his Grandfather, Lord Tywin, to be his Hand and take care of him? All of it was leaving his mind asking a million questions that he couldn't ask all at once.

"The King life just ain't for me, boy. I should've never decided to do it." Robert sighed, his heart seemingly heavy. After all these years, he just didn't up and want to be king anymore? Had it always been in his mind or was he really tired of the pressures of being the ruler of Westeros? "Ned would've made a better king than me, but he didn't want it. So I took it, thinking that I'd do everything that I wanted, but I am doing nothing than I want but being bored and drinking myself to an early death. I didn't even get what I've started the damn war for."

Gazing away from his parent, he looked ahead at the grassy plains as he listened on. "I dreamed of giving it up for many years now. I just want to take myself a ship and go to the Free Cities with a horse and with a hammer and just war and whore. That's me, Steffon. That's what I was made for, what I know how to do. You are my boy, the son I could ever ask for. The son I always dreamed of having; you and Cassandra are the best things I have ever made in this life of mine. You guys are my right in the choices of wrongs I made. But your brother…Joffrey… I just don't ever want to see him on the throne That's why I need you married, having yourself some children from a good wife suited to be Queen. I need Cassandra married too to ensure the future. Whatever bars that brother of yours from the throne, it need be done. But you, Steffon? You'd make a great king, better than I ever damn well was."

"King's Landing still needs you, Father. There's a lot that still needs to be done, corrected, and I'm sure you and Ned Stark can do that if he accepts being your Hand." As much as he wanted the throne, Steffon wasn't truly ready. He knew he wasn't. There was a difference between wanting the throne and being ready for it. And although he was groomed since birth, he couldn't just have it handed to him like this.

"I ain't giving it up right now, son. I'm going to give you the throne when I know your ass needs to be on it… As uncomfortable as that damn Iron chair is." Steffon chuckled. It might've looked pleasing from another's point of view, but when his father once sat him on the throne when he was ten, he immediately wanted to get off. It was hardly comfortable and left his ass sore for a while.

"I promise you, Father, that I'd make you proud if I am to be King." Robert smiled and reached over to him, tightly gripping his shoulder, shaking him just a bit.

"I know you would, boy. You've always and only done me proud." Lowering his head rather humbly, he couldn't fight the smile on his face. Those words only made his confidence grow and the future seem much more brighter. If Steffon would ever be king, he'd be the best damn king that Westeros has ever seen. And he do it all in the honor of his father and his grandfather.

 _ **CASSANDRA**_

Her stomach felt like it was doing flips. When she heard the call that Winterfell was before them, she could feel herself wanting to steer her horse around and ride back to King's Landing. It was a silly thought and nervousness didn't have any solid reasoning. Cassandra's nerves were always wracked when it came to meeting new people, she was never good with first impressions. She also wasn't settling with the idea that a match could be made between her and Robb Stark. Just the thought of meeting him was making her queasy and she wanted to hide. What if she had to marry him? What if she didn't like him? What if he didn't like her? What if he was a terrible person? Sure, the rumors suggested otherwise, but what if all that was a front? What if he was a terror like her own little brother?

The Wheelhouse seemed to gain speed, but she hadn't known it was because of her mother's request. Peering through the windows, she met with her mother's verdant eyes and an arch brow. "Cassandra, get in the Wheelhouse." They had this argument when she first decided that she wanted to ride. Her mother claimed it unprincess-like for her to be riding with all the men and her father and brother. As if Cassandra ever cared if something was princess-like or not.

"Mother, I don't want to be in the Wheelhouse and father has allowed me to ride." Her voice was leveled, not at all disrespectful.

Cersei wasn't having it though, and she could tell from how her her brows knitted together so tightly and how her lips dipped into a deep, deep frown. Cassandra felt a strike of fear then; oh, how she hated when her mother gave her a look that felt like it could pierce her to death. "I said for you to get in this Wheelhouse. You will not come riding into the gates of Winterfell, that is not what a princess does. I accepted you riding during the journey, but I will not allow for that to be your first impression!"

For her mother to not care about the Starks, she sure was stressful of how smoothly things should go upon their arrival. What would they say seeing her? Would they call her unruly? Would she be considered mannish and unfeminine? Perhaps she would turn Robb Stark away and make him vehemently oppose if a marriage was spoken between them? It left her smirking subconsciously. "Mother, I don't care what the Starks think. Have them think of me poorly, I am going to remain on my horse."

Joffrey pulled back the curtain, his face every bit pinched. "Just listen to mother! Why do you have to make everything so difficult as well as make it about you? What kind of man would want to marry a girl like you anyways? You don't listen and you ride like a man."

Sucking her teeth, she gave him an accusing glare. Normally she would have ignored him, but Cassandra was not in the mood to let his words go. She felt childish, she felt the need to argue and defend herself instead of being the bigger person. "And what girl would want to marry you? A boy who is too pretty to sit his little ass on a horse and ride like a real prince. Are you a baby like Tommen? Having to sit with mother in the Royal Wheelhouse, it's laughable, if you ask me. Does mother hold your hand and rub your back when the wheels hit a rock?"a real prince. Are you a baby like Tommen? Having to sit with mother in the Royal Wheelhouse? Does she hold your hand and rub your back when the wheels hit a rock?"

"Cassandra!" Her mother shouted out of warning, but the damage had been done. Joffrey sneered and forced the curtain forward with such a force, shielding her from his tantrum she was sure he was going to have.

"Insolent witch!" Oh, she heard him, and she loved as well as she loathed the reaction she got.

"How dare you speak to your brother like that!"

"It was alright that he spoke to me like that?! He called me a witch!" She couldn't believe her mother sometimes. Joffrey could say and do what he wanted and she would just coddled him or ignore it. But her? She would be scolded and lectured on why she wasn't allowed to say or do such things and it left her blood boiling. Why must she be so proper while her brother did whatever he wanted?

Out of anger, she kicked her horse into a canter to ride further away and not have to deal with them. Her mother was sure to punish her for doing this, but she hadn't cared. Her eyes stayed glued to her brother and father that were so further up in the cavalcade before looking ahead to see Winterfell's grey, high walls. Her mouth fell open in awe, eyes looking at the castle that was much older than her own. This was the place the Kings of Winter used to reside and the very castle that Bran the builder had built.

Cassandra was well knowledgeable about her history, forgetting a few things here and there, but she knew that much. She was well knowledged about the First Men and Cregan Stark as well as the myth of Dragon Eggs that were supposedly in the Crypts of Winterfell. What if she could find one? Could she have herself a dragon? Even though it wouldn't be hers to take.

"Beautiful, ain't she?" Her lips broke into a smile at the sound of her father's voice, and her eyes meet his as he glanced back at the walls of Winterfell. "Much bigger than our Red Keep and just as sturdy as the day she was made."

"Are you excited to meet Lord Stark again, Father?" The two had been infamously close; best friends, brothers. And yet they hadn't seen each other in over nine years. Surely, her father had to be nervous, right? She would've been if she hadn't seen someone she was so close in that long.

"Excited? I guess you can call it that." Looking back at her father, she blinked twice in confusion, waiting for him to explain. "It's been nine years. Gods, it's like meeting someone all over again."

It was rare to hear her father nervous. She wanted to comfort him but she didn't know how. "Well, I'm sure he hasn't changed that much. I mean, have you changed that much for him to not recognize you?"

"I got fat, that's for damn sure." Her brother laughed. He tried to stifle it at first, but he just couldn't fight it. His father gave him a playful, warning of a look with his eyes before laughing himself. "I hope he got fat too! I can't be the only fat one."

Now it was her turn to laugh. Her father always made fun of his weight, even though he could've lost it if he truly wanted to. She didn't care if her father was built, fat or thin, she still loved him. He was still her father, and his weight hadn't stopped him from loving her or bouncing her on his knees when she was small. Cassandra could remember, briefly, of times he would throw her in the air and catch her every time. She always did love crazy things like that even though it had her mother screaming and ripping her away from him.

"I'm sure everything will be alright. It might be like old times between you two again." The least she could do was be more positive for him. He gave her, her favorite smile and reached a hand to ruffle her hair. "Father!" She cried, trying to fix her hair. "Mother is already angry I'm not in the Wheelhouse. Surely, she'd make a riot if she saw my hair looking like a bird's nest!"

Like he would care. He merely laughed at that, even though he knew it to be the truth. "Or are you sure you're looking pretty for Robb Stark."

As she was fixing her hair, she abruptly stopped at his words. Her eyes widened by a fraction and she quickly combed her fingers through hair again and shook her head immediately. "W-Why would I want to do that? I don't know him and not hardly bit of interested to." She replied rather haughtily, much more than she intended to. She found herself cringing afterwards, pressing her hand to her face out of embarrassment.

Now he really believed that she was trying her best to impress the Stark heir. "Is that so? You sure ain't fooling me, girl." She slapped her other hand to her face, wanting to just disappear right then and there. "He's a good lad, I hear. He'd make a good husband and I can finally have some grandchildren. Neither one of you is making it easier for me."

She scoffed, loudly, making sure that he heard her. "What do you want me to do? Marry Robb Stark and pop out babies left and right? You wouldn't even want me to settle into the marriage?"

"That's what you ought to do!" Frowning, she was thinking of what her mother meant by women only being wives and mothers. Cassandra didn't want any children, at least not right now. She just turned seventeen! Why would she want to be a mother already? Sure, there were girls younger than her that were already wives and mother, but that wasn't what she wanted. What she really wanted was to be a knight or explore the world, but she was a princess and princesses didn't get to do things like that.

"Doesn't matter." With a sigh, King Robert had looked over his shoulder. "Get Joffrey to a horse this instant. Can't have the boy not on horseback and showing up like a weak child." One soldier nodded, turning his horse around to do the order. Cassandra knew her brother would be miffed at that. _'Serves him right.'_

 _ **ROBB**_

The gates of Winterfell had opened and the royal procession were making their way through. He stood to his father's right, like a heir does, but he couldn't help but feel troubled that Jon had to stand in the back. It was the way things were and he couldn't question it, but that hadn't meant that he had to like the unfair treatment Jon had to receive. He was their father's son too, baseborn or no. His mother would argue that it would offend the King and Queen, and so he did his duty and stood there in silence.

A large number of people were coming through. First it was some men of the Kingsguard, soldiers and squires, and whoever traveled with them. The first royal to appear was Prince Joffrey, he was heavily guarded with golden-armored Kingsguards around him. His eyes quickly caught the sight of him turning to directly gaze at someone, and Robb found it to be his sister. Robb looked back and forth between them, feeling quite protective of his little sister. So he seized the younger prince up, showing him that he had taken note of the exchange of looks between them.

Next came the Queen's Wheelhouse, which made him eye it curiously. His mother hinted of the eldest princess, Cassandra Baratheon, and she seemed to be subtly telling him to be mindful of her. He could only assume it meant to be friendly with her or that she could be a potential bride. He wasn't all too fond of the idea, for several reasons. It had nothing at all to do with the princess, but his own wishes. He wanted to love his wife, not marry a complete stranger. It might've worked out in the end for his parents but not everyone could be just as lucky as them. Of course, what he wanted didn't mean that it would happen. It didn't matter what he wanted at all because he was their son, a trueborn heir to Winterfell. If they wanted them married then it would happen, no matter the protests, no matter who the girl was.

Crown Prince Steffon showed up, who quickly decided to soak up the sight of Winterfell with his eyes gawking at each and everything. It didn't surprise Robb, he had no real opinion about it. Sheltered princes and princesses were seeing the true greatness that was the North for the first time. So naturally they would be curious. Why wouldn't they? His father told him the Red Keep was much smaller than Winterfell, which seemed strange for a home befitting royalty.

Everyone immediately turned their focused to who came riding up after him. It was the Princess. It had to be with her hair waving like a banner in the wind and her eyes of green twinkling in clear wonder. He saw her mouthing words of awe and immediately tapping her brother's arm as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing and wanted to know if he was seeing it too. Robb immediately felt a swell of pride of that and admiration for her that she had quickly likened his home. Her face showed her genuine feelings about being here. So he watched her for as long as he could, being gratefully unnoticed by her.

"Is the princess riding horseback?" He could hear his mother's whispering. "Why isn't she in the Wheelhouse?" His mother was stuck on the strict rules of what it meant to be a graceful and dutiful lady. She was undoubtedly shell shocked that such a girl didn't care and rode a horse like the men.

"Why is she riding a horse?" Sansa seemed just as curious, absolutely mirroring their mother just now without her even knowing. "Princesses aren't supposed to do that…"

"I like her." Arya quipped, smiling as she said it from Robb could see from the corner of his eyes. Arya liked anything that was unheard of from a woman. She undoubtedly admired the girl already because of it. No doubt she'd be eager to know something more that was unprincess-like about her.

The King rode in now and Robb as well as all of Winterfell had bent the knee before him. To say Robb was shocked by the state his King was in would be an understatement. How did the king get so fat? It sounded preposterous to believe that this was the man that killed Rhaegar Targaryen with his war hammer. He might've been strong to lift the thing still, but give him a push and he'd struggle to get himself back up. And this was the man that he was named after? It was really disappointing to him.

King Robert, when off his horse, walked over to them and told his father and the rest of Winterfell to rise with just a simple motion of his hand. His eyes quickly observed the stare off between his father and his old friend, their expressions solemn and some silence between them. "Your Grace." said Eddard, bowing his head respectfully out propriety.

Silence still ensued and the king's hard stare never stopped. It almost had Robb feeling nervous, wondering why they hardly behaved like the friends he once heard as a boy that they were. They had left on rather harsh terms, he also knew, but wasn't it all behind them now? His fears eradicated as the king uttered, "You got fat!"

He smiled at the friendliness, his father inclining his head to gesture at the man's own stomach with a look. He nearly wanted to smile when the tension broken and the two laughed, briefly hugging like old friends. It wasn't that rare to see his father so relaxed and smiling, still it always made Robb curious how his father was around his friends. Around a person that he considered like a brother to him. His eyes looked away from the two and to gaze back at the Princess, who was helped off her hose by a man of the Kingsguard. She thanked him with a smile before walking towards her twin, immediately clutching his arm and speaking to him.

Before he could attempt to read their mouths, the King had stepped his way over towards him and ripped his attention away from the royal children. "Who have we here?" Looking him over, he reached out for his hand to shake. "You must be Robb." Robb gave the king a firm handshake, giving a quick nod to confirm the King's words. He soon traveled down the line towards Sansa, Arya, and Bran. Robb took one glance at the queen, noticing the Stark difference between mother and daughter. He couldn't even go into details about it because his attention was soon caught by the King once again.

"Take me to your crypts," He said, "I wish to pay my respects."

Robb knew that this meant that he wanted to see his aunt right away. Why wouldn't he know that? His aunt was part of the greater reason of the whole rebellion other than what happened to his grandfather and uncle. The Queen, however, did not take kindly to this and he respectfully knew why.

"We have been riding for a month, my love." Robb glanced towards the prince and princess, who eyed their parents with strange looks. "Surely the dead can wait."

Their mother was ignored and his father was beckoned. The older princess frowned at this and looked away, and he wondered if she resented his aunt at that moment for the power she still had after her death. Everyone had began to disseminate, going about their own way and servants and others alike unpacking and other duties to be fulfilled now that the royal family was here.

"Wow," Theon whistled as he sauntered his way over, grabbing his shoulder and shaking him rather eagerly. "She's all they said she'd be."

Before their arrival, they had talked about the royal family while they were getting shaved to look pristine for them. All they had known about the family was rumors and the rumors that centered around the princess was her beauty and enchanting ways of dance. The Crown Prince was said to be friendly and gifted with a sword. The others? They hadn't heard much about except that Prince Joffrey was said to be a prick. Speaking of getting pristine, Robb certainly missed his beard and didn't much care for being bare-faced. He thought it made him look babyish and not the man that he was.

"She's possibly the only one that looks Baratheon." Jon commented, always being outside of things when it came to situations like this. "The rest of them have the Lannister look."

Blond, blond, blond, blonde, and she being the only dark-haired one. She stood out the most among them with that alone. Arya wasted no time to quickly stride herself towards the princess, possibly with a whole list of questions due to the style she arrived in coming to the forefront of her mind. Seeing as how Arya had a knack for not being proper with her words and unintentionally insulting people, Robb quickly ran after her.

"Princess!" His sister called out to her, "Princess Cassandra!"

Upon hearing her name called, the dark-haired royal had twirled to face Arya with her brows raised curiously. She curtseyed and Arya hurriedly did too. "Lady Arya… right?" Cassandra said with a tilt of her head before her eyes traveled up to meet his, leaving him rather stunned for a split second and quickly gathering himself. "And Lord Robb?"

"Indeed I am, Princess." With a smile, he bowed halfway and hoped that eased things. Perhaps he did since he was given a smile in return. Prince Steffon looked at him curiously, raising a brow. Naturally, he might've felt protective of his sister and wouldn't like the idea of a man stepping towards her. But he smiled and stretched out his hand, offering a handshake. "It is an honor to meet you, Prince Steffon." He shook his hand and suddenly felt a iron grip. He raised his head to look back at the deep blue eyes of the Crown Prince, who was studying him for a possible reaction.

"Nice meeting you as well." As much as he sounded friendly, though his handshake said otherwise. "Please, call me Steffon though. I don't much care or feel the need of titles. My sister and I wish to be well acquainted with the Stark family just like our king father. What I mean is for us to become good friends."

"Right." Robb strengthened his grip, showing that he would not be intimidated, prince or no. This made the Baratheon royal look rather impressed and promptly let go. Robb wondered what was to be gained from that. Was it a test of strength or a brief test of character? Surely a handshake wouldn't amount to anything, would it? "Just call me Robb then."

"Anyway," Rolling her grey eyes, Arya then shifted her attention back to the princess. "What were you doing on a horse? Princesses don't ride on horses when they have Wheelhouses."

"I hate the Wheelhouse." Cassandra truthfully admitted, rubbing her arms to get herself some warmth. Surely they weren't used to cold. He heard the South to be very warm and hot on most days if not moderate. "Your bum gets so sore in there! Same with a horse though, but I like a bit of fresh air, you know?"

It wasn't a princess response and he saw Arya was eating it up. Robb looked at her bewilderingly since she was nothing as he expected her to be. Books and story wises said for princesses to be meek, graceful, and dainty with Princess Nymeria and a rare few people the only exceptions. She was nothing like what his sister, Sansa, was possibly hoping her to be. His attention then shifted to Steffon nudging his sister's side, "Take Silver and Ryia from the knapsack before they kill one another."

"Silver and Ryia?" Both Stark siblings question in unison, both watching the princess hurry off towards her horse while the prince folded his arms while waiting.

"Our Hrakkars." He answered, but Arya and Robb were still very much confused. Their faces said that much. "Our lions." He simplified the term and yet it hadn't made their reactions any simpler.

"Lions?!" For the second time, the both of them were in sync as the princess returned with lion cubs in her arms. Grey Wind had snarled, loudly and fiercely. He was still just a pup, though he thought himself strong and moved himself in front of Robb protectively. Cassandra slowly bent her knees and put what he learned be Hrakkars down onto the ground. Grey Wind looked at the both of them, his yellows eyes watching their every move as the lion siblings began to circle around him in what made Robb feel uneasy.

"Hey, what are they doing?" He pointed, hoping that the two weren't going to team and attack him.

"Don't worry, they're just getting to know him." Steffon waved his hand dismissively, not seeing the dangers of what could possibly happen. Direwolves and lions were not friends, especially these kind of lions that were nothing like the kind he seen pictures of. They were white lions, something he never knew existed before today.

Cassandra kept her knees bent, watching the trio with a fixed gaze. "Ryia knows better." She said protectively, defending the honor of her lion. "She would never harm anyone that she didn't deem a threat to me, my family, or herself."

Ryia raised a paw, slowly moving it towards Grey Wind, who nudged his head against it not too roughly. Silver made its way between them, possibly not liking the interaction. "Where did you get them? Why are they called Harakakaars?" Arya questioned, completely chopping the name of the lions to pieces. It didn't exactly roll off the tongue since it was foreign.

"Hrakkar." Cassandra corrected her with a laugh, "Our Uncle Tyrion gave them to us for our name day a while ago." She explained as she gave her hand to Grey Wind, letting him sniff her. Robb was surprised to see that she attempted to get his trust before petting the area between his ears, and even more surprised that Grey Wind let a stranger touch him. "Harakkar is the name that the Dothraki gave them for they are native to the Dothraki sea."

"That's amazing." Arya then turned, beckoning Nymeria to come over. Robb watched the direwolf pup scurry her way over with her tongue hanging out her mouth. Ryia, which he assumed to be Cassandra's, was purring, rubbing its head and its body against the princess' legs. Grey Wind never did that and it left Robb curious to what it meant for a lion to do that to its owner. Cassandra merely smirked at that act, seemingly amused by it.

"Does she feel threatened, sister?" Steffon asked her, leaving Arya and Robb to glance at each other as they were both still lost as to what was going on.

"She's telling the wolf that I am hers." So that's what it meant? Lions were just as possessive of their owns as direwolves were. Scooping the lion into her arms, she had rubbed Ryia's back as if to coo her. "I am always yours, Ryia. No need to get so jealous."

Arya looked at Nymeria, who was sitting right beside her feet. "How come you don't claim me, Nymeria?" She asked while knowing she wasn't going to get an answer. "I'm important too."

Robb and Steffon laughed as the Baratheon princess then glanced over at them, "I'm going to retire to my room before the feast. Nice meeting you the both of you.." With a bow of her head, Robb caught the sight of handmaidens flanking her to lead her to the apartment she would be staying in. He could honestly say he was disappointed that she didn't stay for a while because Robb was intrigued. A girl that rode horses instead of sitting pretty in a Wheelhouse, she owned a lion and read up on what certain interactions had meant, and she was still so polite and outwardly friendly, even to the direwolves. Who wouldn't be interested?

"Since my sister really left to get herself so proper to look at, how about giving me a tour of Winterfell? I'm quite curious about this place, seeing that it already seems so big by the courtyard alone."

"Would you mind if my father's ward and brother tag along?" He could feel Theon and Jon burning holes in his back. They wanted to question him about the princess and what better way to make them forget about it by talking to the prince? It would give him some relief from Theon's perversions.

"Of course not! I heard your father had a Greyjoy for a ward, I wanted to ask plenty of questions about the Ironborn." Smiling, Robb could tell that he was going to get along with Prince Steffon already. He left a greater impression than Prince Joffrey did, seeing as he was flirting with his eyes at his little sister.

"Arya, are you coming with us?"

Arya curled her lip and shook her head. "I get enough of the three of you everyday." Steffon laughed at her remark as she hurried off, leaving Robb smirking. That was probably how she honestly felt, she only bothered following them when she thought they were going to train or hunt in the Wolfwoods.

"She's something else, isn't she?" Robb said the Prince as Steffon sauntered alongside him.

"She's very straightforward." Steffon commented, "That's a gift. In King's Landing, people hardly say what they really feel. I find her blatant honesty…" His eyes squinted, trying to find the appropriate word. "Refreshing, I guess would be the better word for it."

 _ **CERSEI**_

"How dare you decide this?!"

Her hands were bawled up in tight fists, her eyes burning bright like wildfire in the fit of her rage. How dare he? How dare he not only give her eldest daughter to Robb Stark but have her golden boy marry Sansa Stark as well? Her daughter would be ripped away from her, forced to live in this hospitable and cold country, and never be in her sights again. Never to be at arm's length, most of all. How dare he decide this? How dare he not speak to her about it when Cassandra was every bit of hers as she was his. And now Joffrey, who wasn't even his, he decided to give to Sansa! If Robert thought she hated him before, she definitely abhorred him thrice as much than she ever had before.

"I am the King and I will decide and do what I damn well please!" That was his favorite line in every argument that they had. He was the bloody king, so what he wanted justified all the wrongness of it all. It took everything in Cersei to control herself, to not throw everything within the confines of this dreary apartment at him. Everything that laid on vanity looked like they would inflict some damage. Hell, she felt like grabbing the mirror and throwing at him as hard she possibly could would do the trick. Hopefully a piece of glass would sink itself right through his fat throat and rid of her of him once and for all.

"I don't even know why you're so upset! Robb is a good lad and would treat Cassandra like she deserves to be treated." And just how did he know that? He only _assumed_ that because he was Ned Stark's son. "And Sansa is a polite and beautiful girl. Joffrey couldn't ask for more." Sansa was a pretty girl, she could admit that, but Cersei hardly knew if the girl was well deserved to be her son's wife. That would need further looking into and at least Joffrey wouldn't be leaving her too. Still, it hadn't changed that Cassandra would be forced to stay here and away from her. How does he separate twins like that?

Cassandra and Steffon might not had the same relationship that she and Jaime had, but they had never been separated like this. Cersei could recall her lonely days, lost and alone without her brother with her and being forced to cope. At least she had gone back to a home she knew, she wasn't stuck in a foreign place with people she hadn't known and be forced to adapt in cold weather and uncivilized Northerners. She had gone back to Casterly Rock with her family; family was what Cassandra needed. The family she had known all her life.

"It all comes down to her, doesn't it?" Cersei never wanted to breathe life to that woman again, but she couldn't help but to think that the She-Wolf's ghost was further ruining her life and haunting all that remained alive. "It all comes down to the fact that this is about Lyanna and how the Starks should've been your family, doesn't it?! She's the one that should've been your wife! You're just so miserable with a wife such as me! I bet every time you look at our daughter you think that she is what a child with her would've been like! But Cassandra is _mine_! Nothing could ever be as perfect as a daughter such as mine!" She was practically jabbing her finger to her chest, stressing that Cassandra was hers and hers alone.

Robert was quiet, looking at her rather shocked and dazed. She knew what she was saying had struck him because he looked away from her instantly. "Cassandra is mine and that wolf whore would've never made something so perfect as her! Don't you ever think that again!"

"Don't you dare in Seven Hells call Lyanna that! She was never no whore!" Robert came to her defense so quickly with his face so red from his rage. It hadn't came as surprise that back of his hand sent her face turning to the right and her cheek was aflame. Of course, he would strike her for Lyanna. He probably wanted to strangle her for calling the dead woman a whore. Robert did not hurt her anymore, her feeling long gone for him, but she was bent on protecting her children. That was the only way he could maim her heart.

She stood up straight, pressing her hand to her burning face as she glared at him coldly. If her eyes had the power to kill, Robert would be nothing but ashes at her feet.

"I will never forgive you for that," Grinding her teeth, she kept her eyes in a deadly glare. "And if my Cassandra ever writes to me that she is suffering here, I won't let you live with that."

"Is that a threat?!"

"Take it as you damn well please. You are, after all, the bloody king!" Cersei spat and fled out of the room, knowing that if she had stayed in there any longer that she would've killed him.

 _ **CASSANDRA**_

Lying wasn't something Cassandra particularly liked to do, but she did want to be by herself. There was not a trace of fatigue in her. It all came down to the fact that she just didn't like the idea that the person she just met had the potential to be her intended. So, to momentarily forget everything for a small fraction of time, she lied in her temporary bed and curled up against the soft pillows. It amazed her how warm it was inside Winterfell. Like most people that never stepped foot in the castle, she expected it to be nippy or just flat out cold. It was the complete opposite and if she could compare it to anything, she would say that the warmth in the grey walls were something like a cozy fire that warmed you in all the right places.

Burying her face deeper into her scentless pillow, she kept her eyes closed and took in the sound of serene quiet. Part of her wished that she was back at home, in the Red Keep, so that she could hear the roar of the ocean. It was such a familiar sound that it felt weird to not hear it at all. She never thought she would get the chance to miss it or have a day where the waves crashing against the rocks wasn't the constant sound she heard. Here, it was just quiet. Nothing. No ocean or the sound of seagulls and other birds to fill her ears. Nothing except quiet.

Curled at her feet was Ryia, who laid atop of the furs and lazily swayed her tail side to side. Cassandra wondered, if for a moment, that Ryia enjoyed the quiet too. It was probably better than being cramped in that knapsack with a few short bursts of time to be free of it. It surprised her that the lioness wasn't roaming around, taking in the change of scenery. No, it much rather be by the side of his owner, who was moping about what might not even happen. Her father might not even decide it; what if he decided to marry off Steffon or Joffrey? Both of them were suitable for Sansa, despite Sansa not really of age to marry yet. They could wait for though, but she doubted her father would want to wait as long when it came to Steffon.

There was a knock at her door, pulling her out of her thoughts and making her frown. She just wanted this moment alone and now she wasn't even allowed to have that. "Enter." There was a lazy tone to her voice, hoping that she wasn't loud enough and they would keep on knocking and leave thinking she was asleep.

The click of the door ruined that small dream though. Swinging open the door was her handmaiden, Josselyn, who was bringing in the last of her things. Josselyn was considered pretty with a willowy waist and a diamond shaped face. Her hair, golden in hue, used to be long and cascaded down to the small of her back but she chopped it and Cassandra had reason to believe that it was because Steffon said he liked women with short hair. It hadn't taken away from her beauty, in fact it accentuated her face and made her brown eyes much more alluring. "Why are you cooped up in this dreary room? Shouldn't you be taking a tour of Winterfell like Steffon is?"

Rolling her eyes, she laid back down with a flop. "Of course you would know Steffon's every movement." Cassandra waited until she heard the door completely shut before she gave her a piece of her mind. It had been resting on her mind for a while and she kept waiting for Steffon to be the proper man and end it. He wasn't and because she cared for them both, she decided to take responsibility. "I wish you would end this tryst with my brother. You're lucky my mother hasn't caught wind of it yet."

"And what will she do?" Josselyn was surprisingly fearless, and for all the wrong reasons. "Steffon is the prince and gets to lay with any woman of his choosing. A girl would be a fool to deny him. So what if he chooses me out of the hundreds?"

"I'm sure you know my mother does not take kindly to bastards." Cassandra warned, reminding herself how quickly her mother became cold upon the mention of her father's bastards. "If she think you're pregnant, real or imagined, she'll put a knife to your throat with her own bare hands. Please do not think my mother be so blind."

Why were the two of them so stubborn? If meant nothing, no love involved, then why couldn't the two quit one another? It sounded like they were both in denial, acting as if their feelings weren't there because the tragedy that could ensue. Maybe it all came down tot he fact that it meant nothing to Steffon, but it meant more to Josselyn.

"I want it to end, Josselyn. I can't act as if it isn't happening any longer." Steffon was her brother, her twin, and he was always first when it came to the list of people in her life. She couldn't allow him to stain his reputation like their father did, leaving bastards all over the place. Not because they would be bastards, but because the world did not need anymore children struggling under a bastard title. Edric and Mya were the lucky few, but not the rest of them were. The rest of them? Cassandra wasn't even sure if his father even knew their names let alone their faces. He hardly remembered what Edric looked like and the own presents he gave him for his name days. "I mean it."

It was obvious that she was trying to hide her hurt. Josselyn gave a weak nod and began to unpack her last bit of clothes with a bit of a rush. She kept one dress out, probably for the feast tonight to welcome them, and it only made the guilt grow heavier. It was one of her favorite dresses that she hadn't worn yet, saving it for a special occasion. This wasn't what she would've thought she would wear it for, but what use was it to keep it unworn?

As soon as she was finished, she politely bowed her head. "I'll return when it is time for you to be dressed." And just like that, she was left her by herself again. Now she was feeling wrong, like she had said and something that she shouldn't have. Why did doing the right thing feel wrong sometimes? Hurting people for good intentions seemed like the worst thing to do. She was right about this but she felt wrong.

"Am I wrong, Ryia?" She asked the lion, who raised its head and looked at her with its cloudy grey eyes. The sound it made was much like a cat trying to roar. Cassandra then began to rub her temples, thinking herself crazy for her to be talking to an animal. "I'm losing my mind."

 _ **STEFFON**_

There was lot to tour in Winterfell, much to his surprise. Hearing the story of how the walls were warmed by a pipe that was built through the walls connected by the hotsprings that served so many purposes. Not only did the hotspring keep the castle warm, but it make the Glass Gardens habitable for fruits and vegetables to be grown. It was amazing how such Northerns had used the resources around them to have lived for so long. No wonder how such an old House was able to last this long. It left Steffon wondering if he could use anything he learned back at King's Landing. He doubted it since his main source of problem was how to deal with the sewer system that was becoming so much of a problem that it was impossible to ignore.

"Who cares about who built what!" Theon interrupted, causing Steffon to curiously glance over at him. "You should be spending your time in the bars and Whorehouse. That's where the real fun is, my prince. The Northern girls could teach you a thing or two you'd never seen south."

What he learned thus far of Theon Greyjoy was that all he cared about was archery and women. He lived a rather simple life and also bragged about the home he hadn't seen since he was seven. Still, he knew a great deal about the Iron Islands. It seemed as though his memory hadn't diluted over time he spent away, much to his surprise. "There's more to life than that, Theon."

Jon was possibly the most gloomiest person Steffon had ever met. He could understand why, being a bastard and all wasn't something someone would be proud of considering how denied they were. And he had no idea about his home life or who his mother even was. Steffon knew better than to ask, but the curiosity was nearly getting the better of him.

"Oh, like what? Being moody and letting your cock shrivel up? What's the point of having it if you won't use it, Snow?" Robb looked almost annoyed by their bickering and at the same time, he seemed used to it. Seeing as Jon and Theon were in tight with their verbal spar, Steffon thought it be a good and slim chance to find out what kind of person he was.

"One day you'll be the Warden and I the King." Steffon commented the obvious, "Almost like our fathers never really left."

Robb took that into though, nodding once he realized it. "Hopefully we won't need to go to any wars."

"You think such a peaceful reign will last?" Crossing his arms, he leaned against a nearby tree with his eyes staring at the bickering ward and bastard.

"I can only hope." Robb sighed tiredly, dropping his shoulders. "But what good does hope do? Hope doesn't end someone's greed; it doesn't kill the evil that comes when it wants."

"Hope is what we tell the weak and the poor to believe in because they'll have nothing if they don't have that." Pushing himself off the tree, his eyes glanced over towards the Stark heir. "Lords and Kings can't believe in hope; we even can't believe in prayer, we have to believe that we'll make the right choices, hard as they may be."

Just from this short conversation alone, he could tell the Winterfell heir was soft of heart. He wanted peace, no wars, and no worries. He still believed in such a frivolous thing by the name of hope, just like his sister did. How could the two of them ever be able to cope with the aftermath of a hard choice? This world would hurt them. He supposed it better they build their strength together than let her marry someone as inane Lancel.

"My sister," Steffon noticed Robb become more alert, more interested upon the mention of her. "My sister still believes in hope. She's a good person, she tries her best to believe in the good in people. Don't let that fool you though, she holds grudges. She doesn't forget a slight."

The look on the Stark's face was one of thought, his brows furrowing and his mouth thinned. "Not to be rude, but is there a reason why you're telling me this?"

"I have my reasons." How Robb would take the reply was up to him, and he could tell that it left him. "I've heard that the North used to have tourneys. I suppose that's a very rare thing nowadays,"

"We haven't had one in a long time," Robb replied, "At least not since I've been born."

"Then how does one get to spar?" With a grin, he saw the glint of determination in the Stark's eyes.

"Then I say prepare for one tomorrow, Steffon. The North isn't to be overlooked."

 _ **ROBB**_

Steffon's words kept meandering in his head. Why had the prince told him such random details about his sister? It was impossible for him to know that Robb had taken a modest bit of interest in her. He was only curious, but had the prince read his curiosity? As he looked over himself in the mirror, he looked over his his choice of clothes. He chose grey wool trimmed in white; his House colors, Stark dignity. It did feel so peculiar to be so dressed so finely from head to toe in his own home. Deciding not to think much about it, he left his room in early grace so that he wouldn't be late for the procession.

From the keep, down some stairs, and through corridors, he found his way in the hallway of the Great Hall. Robb saw the King and his father, his mother, and his little siblings as well as the little Baratheons already there. The only ones who haven't arrived yet was the Queen and Cassandra since Steffon and Joffrey arrived a little shortly after he did.

His mother smiled at the sight of him and her hands came rest on his shoulders. "You look handsome." She said with pride.

"Where is the Queen and Princess?" He asked, trying not to feel so embarrassed about his mother smoothing out the littlest of creases. Why does a mother always see a flaw in things and doesn't care who is around to see her fix it?

"You know how women are." The King added, his face already ruddy as he grinned. "I bet they have tried on a good hundred dresses."

Steffon rolled his eyes, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall. Perhaps he knew better than to think his twin was stressing about what she wore. He didn't say anything though, letting his father to believe himself right.

The sound of heels clicking against the hard floors made Robb turn, his eyes catching sight of the Queen who had her arm around her daughter in a half embrace, speaking directly into her ear. He would've noticed the expression the princess wore, the somberness to it, if he hadn't been more interested in how pretty she looked. While the Queen dressed in her Lannister colors of gold and red, Cassandra wore the black and gold of House Baratheon. Her arms were bare, like the dress was suited for Summer, and the neckline was a little dangerously low. So much so that he had to look away from her and even caught Steffon staring at him as he did.

"What?" He mumbled, acting as he hadn't done a single thing.

"I'm not going to kill you for gawking, but try to at least keep your thoughts pure, Stark. That is my sister you're gawking at." A twinge of embarrassment came, but he heard the prince laugh to prove that he was only teasing. Now his face was hot with chagrin and he tried his best to keep his eyes away from the princess for several reasons now.

"Now let's get this over with, I'm starving." Robb believed it when the king said that. Surely, he had never been denied a meal or fasted for long. They all got themselves in place for the procession, his arms proffered to the older princess, who took his arm without once looking at him.

Earlier she had been much more friendlier, speaking to him even though the words were few. Now she was a bit cold, acting as if this was a chore and Robb wasn't sure what he had done to cause her to act like this. "Are you alright?" He kept his voice low, his head leaning towards her so that the conversation was kept between them and not heard by the Steffon before them and Joffrey behind them.

"I'm fine." Which was an outright lie and Robb knew better than to press her when she said that. She wasn't willing to give him any explanation, not like she owed him one anyway.

His lord father had walked into the Great Hall first, escorting the Queen. Then came the King and his lady mother, all being lead towards the high table. Rickon came first, looking quite like a little lord as he tried to walk mosey despite feeling quite shy under the all the attention he was receiving. Then it was Prince Steffon, who walked by himself since Joffrey made it sure that Sansa was on his arm. If there was anyone who walked with proper grace than Robb ever saw outside his own home, it had been Steffon. He had the kind of stride that made all people watch and he did not falter a step or slouch his shoulder by the tiniest bit. It was hard to follow him after that, especially since he was the heir and this was his home.

His eyes found themselves gazing back at Cassandra, who stared straight ahead, and took the first step. She had walked in a leisure pace as he did while maintaining an aura of nobility. She politely gave his arm a squeeze, making him pay attention to the rest of the hall as they passed between tables. It was hard to keep himself not able to look right back at her. It was probably for the best since he tried to keep his eyes from watering since they were stinging from the smoke filling the room from the kitchens.

She unwound her arm from his and took a seat, leaving Robb room to breathe and quickly find his way towards Theon. He no one else to talk to this about. Jon would've been a better and much more reasonable person, but seeing as how he wasn't in the Great Hall, he didn't have any other choice.

"The Princess doesn't look too happy." Theon commented as he took a gulp of the summerwine, "What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything." Robb took a cup from the barmaid and quickly down a good quarter of the drink. "I don't know what she's upset about."

"That's how women be sometimes; upset just to be upset." Glancing at his friend, he leaned back into the table and shook his head. Theon thought himself to be the expert on women. Just cause he lay abed with many whores, it doesn't mean he knew a woman's mind like a soldier knows a sword. "Don't worry too much about it. She'll come around… In fact, maybe its best she doesn't then I can have a go at her. Out of all the things, fucking a princess would probably be the best damn thing I've ever done."

His lips went from a neutral line and to a frown, "Steffon will twist your neck and I won't be there to stop him. And don't talk about her like that, she's a princess, not some sally."

The Greyjoy hadn't replied with words but his rakish grin instead. He looked back at the dark-haired girl, who had already been served her plate of food. She was eating in a very dainty fashion, consuming small pieces with such a bored look. Steffon would lean over and speak to her one once or twice, but he was given one word replies. So it wasn't him she was angry with, something must've happened. Perhaps whatever her and her queen mother were speaking about left her in a sullen mood.

The music had begun to play, becoming louder now and the king wasted no time when it came to dancing. He had his hands roaming all over a barmaid, leaving Robb stunned that the man paid no mind about his wife. The King and Queen were nothing like his parents, loving and respectful. They were cold and distant without the king caring little to none about how his actions would offend her.

His eyes had meant to look at the queen, but the green eyes he found himself staring at were Cassandra's. She looked unbothered about her father's behavior and before he knew it, he saw Theon proffering his bony hand out to her. Blinking twice, he noticed the spot that Theon was just sitting at to be empty, and now he was at the high table asking the princess for a dance. She looked at his hand and up at him in surprise, but gave him a smile and took his hand.

The two of them had walked down from the dais and towards the center of the Great Hall. Tables were moved for them and heads were turning to look, even the king had chose to look at his daughter. Robb wasn't sure why he felt the sudden urge to stand up, to come in between them. The other half of him was so numb and dumbfounded that all he could simply do was watch.

 _'Theon doesn't even like to dance!'_ He inwardly shouted, his frown growing so deep that his face might get stuck. And yet there Theon was, letting the music pull at them in a dance. Their heels clicking all over the floor as with every movement, the princess' hair had bounced and spun out with every move and timed with the beat. Since they came to the Great Hall, she had not smiled at him once and yet here she was, looking as if she was never so moody. Did Theon happen to worm his way into her good favor?

Forcing himself on his feet, he gave Theon just one more minute before he walked over. "Excuse me, Theon, but could I perhaps get a chance to dance with the princess?" He was being polite, but his eyes were telling his friend to go away. Theon saw the hint and looked as if he tried not to laugh before pressing his lips on the back of Cassandra's hands.

"Take a chance with my Young Lord, Princess. You'll find him almost as good as company as me." Squinting in annoyance, he watched Cassandra raise a brow.

"Hopefully he'll be a better dancer." Smiling, he saw the surprise on Theon's face before he rolled his eyes playfully and let Robb take Cassandra by the hand.

A new song played now, beginning very suddenly, as they began to waltz. The shuffling of their feet was slow, minding the rhythm to the music. All those lessons he learned as a boy was quickly coming at him because he feared the worst that could happen was that he would step on her feet. He even caught himself gazing down at them, watching his every step.

"Look at me." She suddenly said, making his head snap up as his eyes being in a staring contest with a pair of green. "You're not going to step on my feet. I won't let you, I promise." A smile broke out on his face, chuckling as he spun her in delicate circle, her black dress billowing out.

"I suppose that makes it easier," He said, "looking at you that is."

She hadn't said anything, but her smile told him that she wasn't displeased. She allowed him to spin her again, which left him noticing how agile she was on her feet. She was practically gliding across the floor so lightly as if they weren't even touching the ground. Princesses must've had much more stricter lessons, he reasoned. They wouldn't allow her to be a terrible dancer otherwise.

"Are you feeling better?" It might've been nosy and he might've been stepping over his boundaries, but he wondered if she felt a little more comfortable to talk with him now. "You seem much happier now."

"That's because I'm dancing." Cassandra answered almost eagerly, "It helps me forget for a little while." Pulling her back in, he noticed the sudden change in her expression. "I'm a bit surprise that you seem so happy though. I thought you wouldn't be happy either, seeing as what is to happen so soon."

"What do you mean?" Before he could get an answer, the music abruptly stopped and the king demanded that all attention be given to him. The man had made few toasts, but something had felt different about this one. Cassandra had subconsciously gripped his hand tightly, her eyes lowering to look at the floor.

With a grin, he drunk another large gulp of the summerwine and wiped away his shiny lips and their wet corners with the back of his hand. "I have an announcement to make! A special one!" His blue eyes then turned to face him, his thick and large hand beckoning the two over with a rapid curling of his fingers. "C'mere you two."

Robb looked to Cassandra, who was sighing rather morosely. The both of them walked rather stiffly and jolted when he placed his heavy arms around their shoulders and he separated the two, the warmth and tight grip of her hand leaving his. "Ned and I have decided to wed my firstborn girl with his firstborn son next month here in Winterfell!" There were looks of surprise and Robb had to stop himself from having his own eyes nearly pop straight out of his head. A round of applause and cheers soon became all that Robb could hear. All he could think of was that within the next month, in a matter of weeks, he would was going to have a wife.

* * *

 **A/N : **I wish Mya Stone was in the show. / sighs ) I hope you all liked this chapter.


	4. Chapter Three: White Wedding

**Author's Note** : Okay, this chapter is waaaay longer than what I aimed for. I had to split it into two parts.

* * *

 _ **CASSANDRA**_

It was impossible to choose the right clothing to wear because of the weather of the North. She only had a few Northern styled gowns prepared for their trip that she didn't think would become permanent for her. She wanted to avoid to wear them so that she had clothing to wear until a Northern seamstress could prepare her a full of wardrobe, but with the chill, she wanted sleeves to cover her arms. So she chose the first Northern dress and styled herself in Lannister red and gold. Black had such a mournful look, especially when worn on a daily basis. Cassandra didn't want to seem as if she was mourning at the fact that she was to be wed. Surely the Starks would take offense to that, especially Robb.

Normally Steffon would escort her to breakfast but he hadn't came to receive her. Cassandra wondered if he found out that she gave Josselyn an ultimatum, he was sure to be cross. Arguing with him would only go in one ear and out the other and then he'd smooth his way into getting what he wanted again. His way of words was a blessing to him but a curse to others. He knew she wouldn't out him, she loved him too much do that, and that's why she would have to teach him a lesson someway or another. Ryia remained on the bed asleep, possibly tired from chasing Grey Wind and Shaggydog last night. So she left the Hrakkar to sleep peacefully. If Ryia wanted to find her, she would.

As she entered the hall, leaving the guest apartments, the little lord, Rickon, was walking alongside his older brother Brandon onto their way for breakfast. Cassandra was never exactly able to deal with children and found herself stuck on how to greet or even interact with them. They looked up to her, both their eyes swirling with curiosity, and their little heads nodding respectfully for good propriety. "Good morning, Princess Cassandra." said who she remembered to be Brandon, but was affectionately called Bran by his family. She hadn't earned the right to call him that, she supposed, so Brandon was how she would greet him.

"Good morning, Brandon." Her eyes then swiftly looked towards the baby brother, who shuffled his feet. "And you too, Rickon."

At least Brandon smiled. He eased that awkward tension that was making her a bit stiff with worry, and to think she'd be their good-sister? She couldn't even say a well-adjusted, un-awkward good morning to them properly. Tommen and Myrcella were the only children she was ever comfortable with for she had no choice really. She was good with them, somewhat, except for the time she nearly dropped Tommen when he was a baby because she had been startled by his vomiting.

Her lips parted silently, trying to find a way to strike a conversation. Nothing came to mind and she found Rickon staring at her more intensely as if trying to tell her to hurry up. She nearly laughed at that until she knew he might take offense, "Would you two like to escort me to the Great Hall? I tend to lose my way."

"Of course." Brandon looked at Rickon, a warning look in his eye. They both began to walk alongside her, their pace a little quick while hers was leisurely. "Have you taken to Winterfell yet, Princess?"

"Not really." It was probably better to be honest, lying at this point didn't seem well worth it. "It is cold and I'm not quite used to that. I assume that once the Summer is gone, it'll only grow colder, won't it?"

"I don't know." His little shoulders went up and down in a shrug, "I'm a Summer child as Old Nan likes to say. I've never known the Winter or the Autumn," His eyes met hers as he gave a gentle look, "Just the Summer."

There was something relieving about that. At least she wouldn't be the only one discovering the dramatic change in weather that was sure to come, "So you and I will embrace the Autumn and Winter together?"

"Maybe." The corner of his eyes creased as he smiled, "But hopefully, you'll get to see the snow before it gets to be freezing Winter."

"Ah, yes, snow." She nodded slowly, "I've heard so much about it. Tell me, what's it like? How does snow feel? Does it have a taste? What can you do with it?"

As Bran was about to answer, Rickon spoke up instead. "It tastes like water! Like really cold water and it crunches when you bite and step on it."

"It crunches?" Childish as it was, her eyes lit up in wonder, trying to conjure up an image of what snow was like. "So you can touch it?"

"Yes!" Rickon grinned, "We like to make them round and throw them at each other. They don't hurt unless you let them sit outside and they get all icy."

The conversation of snow had carried them all the way to the Great Hall with her listening to a tale of how they pummeled Robb together. It was funny to imagine as tall as Robb was compared to them, being surrounded by a bunch of children; outnumbered and unarmed. Rickon and Bran explained just how they outwitted their older brother and their father's ward, making her wonder how her and siblings would've taken to snow when they were smaller. Cassandra doubted Joffrey would've enjoyed it, but she knew the rest of them would've enjoyed hitting Joffrey.

The doors of the Great Hall had opened and she saw a few good people. They were either late or early. Bran and Rickon had waved their goodbyes as she made her way towards her brother, who was sitting with the Stark boys and the Greyjoy. Avoiding him didn't hold any standing now since she was sure her mother would never grace herself in the Great Hall for breakfast unless it was for Tommen and Myrcella. She would never come here alone; it was just unlike her.

"If it isn't my twin." Steffon took a bite of bacon, crisp but not blackened. He never liked his bacon burnt black like she and their Uncle Tyrion did. "Care to join us?"

"Should I?" She looked at the rest of them, pretending to be mindful. Cassandra was going to sit with them whether Steffon liked it or not in the end. "I don't want to intrude."

"Actually, we need a woman's advice, Princess." Theon had patted the seat next to him as her twin slowly turned to gaze at the Greyjoy with a slight frown. Noticing that quick look, she took a seat next to Theon much to her brother's displeasure.

Cassandra gave the ward a pinched smile, "Tell me what troubles you."

Breaking a apart his bread and sopping it into his broth, Theon returned her gaze to ask his question. "If a woman you've been with suddenly ignores you, what does that mean?"

Oh, how she wanted to look right into Steffon's eyes because she could feel waves of heat oozing right out of him. He was angry, and this question was particularly about him and Josselyn. She knew it. So Josselyn had listened to her and broke off her affairs with him, but he was bothered by it. Why? Because they were lovers as Theon suggested or because it meant his time in the sun with her was brought to an abrupt end?

Cassandra pretended not to know, summoning the most innocent of looks as she folded her hands neatly on her lap and sat straight up. "I believe it means she has reason to move on from you."

"Says the girl who has never even loved a man before." Her brother retorted, his eyes glittering with bridled annoyance.

"I've been in love before!" The princess argued, "I'm a girl and you're not. He asked for my counsel, not yours."

"With whom?" All eyes were on her and she suddenly felt nervous.

She purposely avoided all their gazes by averting her green eyes, "Gerold Dayne."

Her brother visible stiffened at that, even going as far as choking on his bacon. Her lips rose in a visible smile. Gerold Dayne, knight of House Dayne of Dorne, had came to King's Landing once when they were fourteen. Cassandra was immediately smitten with him because of his handsome features. It was when he spoke, however, that she found all her fluttery feelings diminishing as quickly as they bloomed.

Maybe Steffon didn't know the latter but he certainly knew the former.

"Gerold Dayne?" Robb repeated curiously, "A relative of Ser Arthur Dayne I presume?"

"Through marriage." Steffon quickly stressed. "All my sister saw was silver hair and purple eyes, she didn't see how much of an ass he was."

"But I was still in love." Defiant until the end, she raised her chin in a haughty angle. "Anyways, Theon, if a woman suddenly ignores you then it is best to quit her because she is clearly quitting you."

Stealing a fish off her brother's plate, she took a bite with a victorious grin. She won the first battle of their miniature war, and she was determined the win the whole damn thing. Steffon rolled his eyes and looked off into space, probably scheming on how he was going to get his vengeance.

"Just part of the many reasons why I don't want a wife myself just yet." Theon shook his head, obviously over the idea of proper and less sinful relationships between men and women.

"Why don't you worry about that until a woman can look past your ugly mug, Theon." Robb teased, ducking as a piece of soggy bread was thrown at him.

The bastard Stark had looked between the both of them with a sullen look, she noticed. He didn't particularly smile often, of that she knew since they arrived. This time he looked much more serious than she noticed him look before. It wasn't within her right to pry, no matter how tempting it was to. It was the worst thing for her to be nosey, especially considering there were so many secrets kept all over the place in every part of Westeros.

Abruptly, Steffon stood from his seat. "I'm going to prepare for our spar later. You will be joining us, Jon?"

"I can't." Jon immediately said, "A bastar—"

"Bastard or no, I want a spar. Robb says you're the better sword, and I'd like to see for myself." Giving a quick smile and a knight's salute, he left the Great Hall. Cassandra blinked twice, just wondering where exactly her brother was going. Why was he off in such a hurry?

Cassandra stood to follow him, gathering her skirts so that she could see what he was off to in a quicker pace. As soon as she went past the doors, a hand was wrapped around her wrist and halted her of her mission. She slowly turn to see that it was her intended. Hitching a brow, she rose her eyes to give him quite the inquisitive stare. "Is there something going on between you and your brother? Things seemed a bit… tense." The question was rather innocent and made her wish he wasn't so observant between what was going on between her and her brother.

 _'Why do you care?'_ She wanted to ask. She thought it would be too rude to say it and kept her mouth shut. "That's just how we play." She lied to him, forcing herself to smile. The light didn't even reach her eyes, but he seemed to take what she said as truth.

"I was hoping that you—"

Cassandra stopped him before he could finish, "Would you mind giving me a tour of Winterfell?" It was probably in her best interest to know the layout of this place. Also, she felt nervous about whatever he was meaning to tell her. "You gave Steffon one, but I think I'm the one who truly needs it since I'll be living here." _'For the remainder of my miserable life.'_ She added the last bit in her head.

 **lll**

It was colder than she imagined it would be today. Cassandra would clutch the furs closer to her as she walked alongside Robb. It was Robb that did all the talking. Whenever he asked her questions, she answered them and only asked her own with a few words every now and then. Her lack of conversation was out of her own fear of saying something silly or something mean when he was undeserving of it. Robb didn't ask for this marriage, so it wouldn't be fair to take out her frustrations on him. She was sure her father would be less than proud to see her so quiet and docile with wide-eyes swirling with an overabundance of anxiety. Robb was harmless, very gentle and mindful with the utmost sense of propriety, but she couldn't say she trusted him. She didn't know him and it was her fault that she wasn't trying to. Cassandra wasn't exactly leaping and grasping at the chance to.

"And this is the Godswood, where we have prayed to the Old Gods for centuries." There was a sense of pride in his voice as his eyes looked over the place. "A Sept was built for my mother upon my lord father's request. I suppose if your faith lies with the Seven, that's where you'll be praying." Cassandra's eyes soaked it all in, and it wasn't as what she thought it would be; a Godswood of Winterfell. The one in King's Landing was much better than the one here, but she never prayed to the Old Gods since the Faith of the Seven had taken over and was the religion that her mother encouraged. It wasn't flowery as she would've thought it to be and the trees surrounding it didn't have lively colored leaves save for the heart tree. It was dark and it felt like a thousand eyes were staring at her, judging her. Like they were banishing a stag in favor of the wolves.

Stepping away from his side, she leisurely walked closer to the white tree of red leaves with her eyes observing everything in sight; from the surrounding trees and to the dark pool with a surface that would show one's reflection but not what lies deep in the waters. It was almost like it never wanted anyone to know what was within its depth, which was a saddening yet relatable thing.

"My mother says the one in Riverrun is much more prettier." Robb stole her attention, "I'm sure you're used to sun and gardens, but it tends to be dark here in the North. The sun rarely shines, and if it does, it isn't for long."

How dreary, she couldn't help but think. How could she adapt from brightness and warmth for the cold and dark? Taking a girl that only knew of things like gardens and oceans, and placing her in the barren North with strangers and an air that never knew heat… It sounded like a nightmare. Perhaps she was a little too harsh and being dramatic. One day, she might be able to find the beauty in this place. She already found the history fascinating. She could extend from that, couldn't she?

"Would you like to go to King's Landing one day?" Curious about his answer, her hand fiddled with a red leaf from the nearest branch. "The heat is constant and the sun is always present." Just speaking about her home kept her smiling. If she could stay there forever, she would.

Unsure of why he smiled then, the light of it reached his eyes as he kept his gaze fixated on her. Her mind kept thinking of the brief time of fun spent between them as they danced at the feast. There was a hint of what could've been a friendship there, but it had been completely tainted by the announcement of their marriage. Now that she realized she was looking into the eyes of her husband, she felt bashful more than she felt curious and friendly. Not just that, he had been avoiding eye contact since he had been espying everything else, occasionally glancing at her when he was speaking out of courtesy. "I don't care much for heat. I like the cold; Winter is in my blood."

"And Summer is in mine." It only proved that a match for them wasn't in their favor. They were as different as the sun and the moon; wolf and a lionhearted stag. Her father should've known that such a match wasn't destined. If the Gods didn't give him Lyanna Stark, why would the Gods give her Robb?

"I wager you want to ask how I feel about it? This marriage, I mean."

Cassandra stood up straight, unsure of how to answer. "I…" She paused slightly, almost thinking that his answer might not be good to hear. If he was unhappy about the possibility like she was then she would be happy, but what if he didn't want the match because of how she looked? What if he didn't much care for her personality? He barely knew her, but did he like the little she shown him? Possibly not, she hardly gave him much to work with. "I would like to know how you feel about it."

She awaited her answer from the Wolf Pup as she heard her Uncle Jaime call him. Her uncle was always sharp and witty with an abundance of condescending nonchalance. That being said, it gave her a hard time joining his side when he didn't like a person or trust them. He didn't like Robb, he didn't like Ned. He didn't like any of the Starks, and probably wouldn't have cared if they all fell dead.

"I'm not excited about it if you want me honest." Her head moved in a slow nod, understanding that. "I didn't want my marriage to be of a thing of politics." That surprised her, her focus never shifted away from him from there on out. She was too curious, too captivated, as his eyes of ice seemed like liquid pools of warm water now. "Call me simple-minded or whatever it is you can think of to insult me, but I wanted to love my wife not force myself to."

Cassandra gathered that most men didn't care who they married as long as she was wealthy, pretty, and from a Great House. Robb, however, didn't care for any of that. He would rather love his wife than see her as some sort of prize for his name and family. And she felt the smile that spilled itself across her lips come naturally. Robb Stark earned her respect and for a second, he swayed her heart.

"Most people dream of that." She found herself saying, looking back at the bright, red leaves of the white tree. Her thumbs slid across the soft surface, loving the sensation of how it felt. "To marry for love, especially noble girls. We never know how the person we marry will be, so we hope he'll be a valiant man with a soft heart underneath his armor."

"You've dreamt of that as well, Princess?"

Before she could stop herself, she uttered a very defiant, "No." She wished she hadn't been so open at that moment. Since she said it, she couldn't take it back. "I… I honestly never wanted to marry."

His brow rose at that, eyes glittering with shock. She nearly wanted to laugh since she knew that hearing a girl not wanting marriage wasn't common. They would call her an spinster; an old maid that was twisted in the head. If she didn't want a husband or children then she wasn't a well-adjusted girl. A girl couldn't live her life with her family and feel content about that. She had to make a family of her own and keep her parents proud and have honor to her name. The Lannisters weren't at all honorable, just able to strike fear and demand respect through questionable means. They would've loved to breed as many of them as they could as trueborns in Great Houses.

"Surprising, isn't it?" A sigh left her lips as they pursed rather briefly, "I am very attached to my twin, to my father, to my mother, and to my little brothers and sister." Truthfully, being free of Joffrey was a dream come true, but at the expense she wouldn't watch Tommen and Myrcella grow? It had hurt her. "I would much rather be with them in our home of King's Landing for the remainder of my life." Cassandra wasn't stupid and nor was she blind, she knew that such a dream was unrealistic. "Having a child or being a wife was never something I dreamed or wanted, but I am a Princess and we don't get to live our lives like that. Even if I were lowborn or the daughter of a lord and lady, I would still have to marry and live a life not of my choosing."

"You love your family that much?" Cassandra nodded in reply, briefly glancing at him. "I love my family too, but I'd like one of my own."

"You should, you have a name to carry." She reasoned, "And I am just a breeder, that's what my mother says. A wife just spreads her legs for her husband and breeds him his heirs, that's all."

His lips tugged downward in a frown, like he was saddened by her outlook on such a thing. What did he expect? Cassandra was sure everyone knew that her parents had not loved one another. There was no love lost between them, and she was sure everyone caught sight of that when her father went running to see Lyanna Stark's grave. That woman wasn't allowed to breathe life by just her name in the Red Keep. Her mother nearly snapped when Cassandra mentioned her when she was just a girl.

Her father loved that woman, even until this day. Lyanna Stark must've been some woman to create a whole war and to haunt her father for so many years. Sometimes Cassandra wished she would just let him go, but would that make her father love her mother? She doubted it. Lyanna wasn't the only reason why her parents just didn't love one another.

"A wife can be much more than that, Princess." Robb brought her out of her thoughts with his words, leaving her brows arched in curiosity. "A wife is more than just some breeder. She is the keeper of his secrets and his biggest supporter. My mother ensures my father's happiness and gives good counsel. He listens to her and he respects her greatly." That was what a good marriage was like? Cassandra never seen it for herself. It was almost hard to believe that two people could be happy together like this for so many years. "My mother and father were never meant for each other at first. They just happened to grow to love each other along the way."

Could that be the same for her and Robb as well? Could she grow to love him and him to love her? Was it all just a nice thought in spite of this marriage neither of them wanted? Cassandra merely gave him a small smile. She wasn't sure if they could be as lucky.

"You promised my brother a spar, didn't you?" Cassandra noticed his sudden smile, "I'm interested in how this will go."

"You sure you don't want to join your sister and mine with Septa Mordane?" Stitching lessons? Yes, she would rather skip it. She was surprised that the little Stark girl, Arya, wasn't doing the same.

Smoothing the creases of her skirts with the palms of her hands, she rose a haughty brow. "I'll have you know, Robb Stark, that I am not at all fond of stitching. I could make a nice crooked house on a embroidery hoop, but if you ask me to sew a piece of clothing then you might as well be as bare as the day you were born."

His head tilted back as he laughed, proffering his arm in gentlemen gesture. "I wouldn't want be the reason a person would be forced to wear it." Hooking her arm with his, she kept up with his pace. "I'm sure Steffon was the one to have suffered."

"You should've been there. I tried to make him a fine golden doublet." Her eyes twinkled with nostalgia, staring absently at the soldier pine and other varieties of trees. "It looked nice when he put it on. He looked great actually, but when he stood in court though…" Her head shook, "The thing started falling apart at the seams and the women started screaming like besotted girls. My father was so angry and blamed all of the royal seamstresses!"

In the midst of his laughter as they walked towards the courtyard, he looked at her expectantly. "You told him it was your fault, didn't you?"

"Not at first…" She cringed, still remembering the hot shame that coursed through as her as she tried to avoid telling the truth. It wasn't until when he saw her father aiming to punish the seamstresses with whippings and more since he thought they purposely tried to embarrass Steffon did she stop and tell him it was her fault. "I didn't get into any trouble though. My father just started laughing and told me to make sure I stitched it right the next time or else he'd ban me from ever touching a needle and thread."

"I don't believe I ever heard a woman being banned from stitching." The Stark heir smiled, "Please don't tell Arya that. She'll try do the same."

"She'll be my good-sister soon," The both of them slightly tensed with the meaning, their hooked arms loosening from one another to gather them some space. "I ought to be a good one and teach her some tricks."

 ** _STEFFON_**

A wooden sword? Steffon hadn't touched a wooden sword since he was eight. He used a real blade since then, which made his mother suffer a minor fit of how he was too young for live steel. His father, meanwhile, bragged about it until his face turned blue. It probably wasn't the wisest decision to let a boy so young use a dangerous weapon, but Steffon had never harmed himself too severely. A few scrapes and cuts that healed within weeks still left some slight scars on him. He was a man, he would tell his mother, and men were supposed to have scars. A man without scars is either a God or a coward; nothing in-between. Even so, he looked at the neatly crafted wooden sword with an amused glint in his eye. At least he didn't have to worry about them chopping Joffrey to pieces.

"Where's Robb?" Theon stood impatiently, arms crossed and his eyes scouring the entirety of the courtyard. "He should've been here."

"He'll show up soon." Jon took up for his half-brother, arms crossed as well as he glanced around in search for him too.

Not understanding what the rush was, he figured that maybe it was unlike the Stark heir to be late. "I'm sure Robb isn't the slightest bit of scared of fighting me." Steffon remained calm, already knowing that Robb would show up eventually. What seemed to pop up in his thoughts every few minutes was where his sister could possibly be. No doubt she would be finding her way here instead of stitching lessons, which she severely needed. He still couldn't quite forget the embarrassment of his clothes falling apart in court despite it being years ago. The fuss it made kept the story still whispered around the Red Keep.

"There he is!" His blue eyes looked away from the wooden sword and up to see the young lord of Winterfell. His smile turned into a smirk, noticing his sister on his arm and staring at him with a look that told him to stay quiet.

He wouldn't though.

Theon looked at the two of them before gluing his eyes on Robb, "I hope you two weren't engaged in premarital activities."

Cassandra scoffed, loudly, unloosening her arm away from Robb and sharply turning. The ends of her hair whipped across Theon's face, having him savagely rub his eyes since the ends of hair hair managed to get directly in them. She had done that purposely, knowing that her hair was long enough to reach him. Robb was snickering at the expense of Theon's pain.

"I see you're taking a liking to Robb." He said once the gap between them was a comfortable distance between the Stark and Greyjoy. "Didn't you think you'd be so miserable just yesterday?" Steffon tousled her already messy hair, making it even more unkempt. It looked as if she climbed out of bed and didn't bother to brush it.

His twin slapped his hand away, her arms akimbo now. "I don't like him in that sort." She tried to make perfectly clear, "He and I are…" Cassandra paused, trying to find the proper word. He waited with a hitched brow, head slowly lowering as he waited, "Cordial!" Was the answer she quickly came up with and seemed quite satisfied with it as she nodded, sticking right with it.

"Cordial?" The Baratheon prince repeated dubiously, "I'm suppose to buy what you're selling, right? I think the merchant needs a new trick if he wants to sell his wares."

"I'm serious, Steffon." As hard as she may try to assure him, it didn't sound at all believable. She could be telling the truth, he didn't know, but he liked to give her a hard time. That was his duty as his brother, he always reasoned. "I don't really know anything about him to like him. I just know he is a nice lad, that's all."

A nice lad? As if that was the proper way for a princess to speak. "I think you're catching on to Mya's mannerisms, I didn't think you'd be so impressionable."

"Shut up!" Smirking, he watched as she make her way over to where others were gathering to watch. He didn't think they would generate such a large audience. "And don't lose!"

"I won't!" She smiled at his surety, leaving him just a layer more confident than he already was. Steffon was arrogant, the prince could proudly admit that about himself. Perhaps it was in him to be, being a Lannister and all, but he was also a prince. He was raised to be the pinnacle of perfection, his whole life was spent on being better at any given task before him. It didn't matter what it was, he aimed to be an overachieve in the subject; mathematics, astronomy, history, swordfighting, and much more.

It could've been much more than that. It could've been that he hated for people to look at him and not want to rely on him and to think he was incapable. What others thought of him did affect him more than he wanted, especially how his father and grandfather thought of him. Nobody knew that kind of pressure to be the son of a king that killed the dragon prince and the grandson of man that raised the Lannister name to a tier it never was before.

Twirling the wooden handle of the sword deftly between his fingers, his eyes glanced up at the Master-of-Arms of Winterfell; Ser Rodrik Cassel. He had quite the intimidating look about him with his hair and whiskered-beard white with old age. He looked like he could still take down any person that stood before him, young or old.

His observations came to an end as Ser Rodrik handed a wooden sword to Robb just now. The Stark was dressed in his proper House colors with a surcoat. It wasn't at all expensive like his and Joffrey's clothing, but it was made by good hands. "Prince Steffon," The prince raised his head, giving Rodrik his full attention. "Are you ready?"

"Yes." He answered in a clear voice, his eyes slowly looking over to his current opponent. "How about you, Robb? It's too late to back out now."

He was given a smirk, "Don't go crying to your queen mother when you get knock on your rear." With half a bow, the both of them had prepared themselves by getting into their proper stances.

The excitement that Steffon felt nearly heightened. All eyes of the people within the courtyard were looking at the both of them. He glanced over to see if he could spot some faces but he hadn't seen a glimpse Josselyn. She was really taking this avoid all contact seriously, which made him wonder what his sister must've told her. He doubted Cassandra would make such a serious threat that would scare her off that badly.

Speaking of his sister, her eyes weren't even focused on him. She was looking at her betrothed rather pensively. Knowing her all his life, it left him bothered that he couldn't tell what exactly she was thinking. It didn't matter either way, what happened between her and Robb now wasn't really his business anymore unless the Stark dare lay hands on her out of harm or dishonor. He was a Stark though and from the little he knew, he could say Robb wouldn't mistreat her.

Ser Rodrik lowered his hand to tell them the battle was to start, and the two began to circle one another. His blue eyes stared intensely at Robb, looking for an opening and thinking of the next attack that would come after it. There was also the process of what he would do if Robb attacked first. He had to be three steps ahead and not a foot behind.

Robb leaped forward, taking the initiative to perform the first strike. He made the sword in a curved line to create an unbroken parry, which was met with his sword. Robb did not stop at one hit though, he kept on continuously, and Steffon gladly kept the pace of the pressure by letting the swords clash.

The blond-haired prince leaped, his footwork fast and smooth, his backward steps like a horse's prance. He managed to block every hit, quick and strong, but Robb's relentless onslaught had made him unable to be the offense and keep defense. Eventually, he managed to halt him and the two were engaged in a heated standoff. It was the battle of strength now and neither one of them was budging or winning.

Robb took the initiative to press his palm to the base of the wooden weapon in order to add more force. Seeing how it could backfire, Steffon pushed a step backward with his left foot and then gained enough strength to be able to lead the charge and push Robb back several steps.

The two separated. Robb winding his sword hand as Steffon raked his fingers through his hair, pushing away from his face. He should've tied it to keep it from being a nuisance, but he was too distracted by how he was going to win to do something as simple as that.

"Feeling tired, Steffon?" Robb taunted.

"We've only just started."

"Surely the bout could've ended minutes ago if you two weren't playing around." Joffrey spoke up, standing next to Cassandra with his eyes revealing his bored look. "Don't tell me, brother, that the Stark is giving you a hard time."

Robb and himself exchanged a look, the both of them properly annoyed by his little brother's input. "Want to speed this along, Stark? I believe my little brother is itching to fight you as well."

"You would give me the honor in doing that?" The both of them smirked then, Joffrey looking back and forth at the both of them.

"And what do you mean by that?!" He questioned.

Steffon turned to look at his brother, "Just reminding Robb that you'll beat him, of course." He only lied to keep his brother quiet, seeing as his sister was just about through with him since the witch incident and wouldn't shush him herself.

Returning to the spar, they decided to mutually bring it to an end. Robb aimed to get him off guard, performing a sleek one-arm strike. The attack consisted on him expertly turning his right wrist upward to make the sword turn in a slight diagonal. The skill was noted by Steffon, especially since it was such an advanced one. Had it been live steel, he probably would've been short a few hairs. He might've even lost since the glint of the blade could blind an enemy to make it appear like a blur if there was enough speed given.

Seeing an end to a fight right before him, Steffon settled for a downward parry. This was his strength, seeing as it can disrupt a person's balance and leave them open for a counterattack. Robb was quite good at that, so he had to choose wisely on when to use it.

Wrapping both hands on his wooden shortsword like it was a longsword instead, he waited until Robb brought his sword straight down. With a downed sliding motion, Steffon parried it right on time. The Stark eyes widened in surprise as Steffon grinned at the open victory as he stepped to the right, his sword making Robb's to be forced down.

Impatiently, the Stark extended his arms, and that gave Steffon enough force to quickly lift the wooden sword up off Robb's and slide it under again, forcing the sword out of his hands. Robb's wooden sword had landed on the courtyard ground with a thump, leaving Robb dumbfounded as his eyes stared at his empty hand and back at the sword on the ground.

"Looks like I won." It wasn't technically an easy win. In fact, Steffon was a little bit grateful it wasn't live steel. He probably would've lost if it was. "But who taught you how to use a sword? That one-arm strike was done perfectly."

"Ser Rodrik did." He answered him, not at all sore about the loss. "I may have lost, but next time I'll get my vengeance."

"I'll be waiting." Holding out his hand, the two shook on it before he looked over to Tommen, who would prepare to fight Bran. "Best tell your brother that I won't lose to him either."

"I don't know about that, Steffon. Jon is a better a sword than I am and if you were impressed with that then you're bound to be even more when the wind gets knocked out of you."

Winding his arm, he handed Ser Rodrik the wooden sword with a grin. "I like being doubted, Stark. It makes the victory much more sweeter."

 _ **CASSANDRA**_

"You look stunning, Princess."

 _'Stunning?_ ' She thought sourly, staring at her own reflection at a person she didn't really know. All she saw was this girl that was forced to wear ivory silk and Myrish lace. It was beautiful, certainly, of that she could say. The bodice, although tight enough to make it hard for her to do something as simple as breathe, had gold seams and intricate designs throughout that would make a seamstress weep when finished. It had made sense why she would wear white, for the purity of it all, but she didn't think the color suited her well. She really did miss wearing black, even Lannister red.

Her hair was styled into a braided crown and then her grandmother's circlet slipped on carefully on her head. That was her favorite part of the whole outfit; the circlet. A piece of her grandmother and her father was with her; a touch of Baratheon there that not even the Starks could take away. She thought for sure that her father would be happy to see it. Perhaps this was the day he hoped she would wear it for.

The handmaidens and ladies-in-waiting were still scurrying around, looking for the doeskin shoes of hers as she stared away at herself. It was the last time she could see herself as an unmarried, unruly girl. She would become Robb Stark's wife and be named Cassandra Stark, née Baratheon, as well as reduced in rank from princess to lady. No more proudly announcing she was the Princess of Westeros, she would be the future Lady of Winterfell now.

"They say there is snow falling from the sky, Princess." Josselyn told her, holding out one of the doeskin shoes. Lifting the skirts of her dress, she had let her slender foot slip right into it. "This may be the Old Gods blessing your wedding."

As curious as she was of snow, she thought sour of it now that it decided to appear on the day of her wedding. What could it possibly mean? "Yes, I heard Lady Stark say that means great happiness and fertility!" chimed Millicent, one of her few favorite lady-in-waiting.

"I don't want a honeymoon child." Cassandra quickly said, her eyes revealing her horror. "I didn't even want to be married. Why would you think I want to be a mother already?!"

Josselyn couldn't help but chuckle at her present fear, "Just drink Moon tea. The men will be going on a hunt at dawn and then your family plans to leave on the morrow. You'll be alright to drink it. Nobody wouldn't even know."

How could she say that so simply? Just drink Moon Tea? What if Robb wanted a child already? He already told her that he wanted a family of his own. Even if that was what he wanted, she wasn't at all ready for it. She'd drink the whole teapot if it meant she would stay without child until the idea didn't frighten her anymore.

Settling into her shoes, she tried to smile in the mirror, even though it came out rather strange. The knocking at her door startled them, but Josselyn was the one to quickly open the door. When she bowed deeply, Cassandra knew it to be her mother and smiled genuinely once she saw her. "Mother…" She lowered her head demurely, knowing her mother wanted her sweet and proper on this day. Even if she felt like running back to King's Landing, she would behave as was expected of her.

"Oh, my sweet girl, you look beautiful." Her hands cupped her face, warm as Cassandra always remember them to be. "Even your father will tear at the sight of you."

She doubted that. She had never seen her father shed a single tear in her entire life. Cassandra didn't think her getting married would change that either. "You think so?" Still, the idea that her father would be sadden at the fact that he was essentially letting her go and would part from her did warm her heart, just a bit.

Taking a seat, she sent the handmaidens and ladies-in-waiting away, letting Ryia sit across her lap. It was unusual for Cersei to allow any animal to touch her, but she had taken quite fondly of the lions. She would even dare pet them, letting her queenly hands rub against their bellies, head, and back. It made her look much more intimidating too since her mother was certainly a lioness in every single way.

"How do you feel?" Cersei questioned her softly, "If you are troubled then tell me. I had no mother there for me to tell what I was feeling. I'll give you what I didn't have."

Smiling, Cassandra turned to her mother and looked down at her hands before meeting her eyes. "Sad, nervous, and confused. I keep asking myself how did I go from celebrating my name day to marrying Robb Stark. Before he was just another name and now he's an actual person that I've met and spoken to."

"You never told me how you feel about him." Cersei briefly looking down to Ryia, who leaned into her kind strokes. "I've heard that you two have spoken rather sporadically."

Cassandra never gave herself time to assess what she truly made out of him. He was certainly nothing like the usual men that she met in King's Landing, foreign or Westerosi. He was handsome, gentle, and very boyish. He was only serious during times where he had to be, but other than that? He was still very childish at heart, she figured out.

"I am… fond of him." She squinted, trying to articulate her thoughts as best she could. _'Fond might be too strong of a word, but I already said it.'_ She quickly thought. "He has never been mean to me or perverse. All he has ever been is kind and most patient."

Her mother nodded slowly, her face one of thought. "I thought your father to be dashing and heroic. I was instantly besotted with him. How Robb is now might not be the same later on, Cassie. I advise you to not give him your heart so quickly."

She hadn't thought of that. What if all of this was an act? What if Robb really wasn't like this but was putting on airs? Maybe she should've had her handmaidens snoop around to see if Robb visited the brothel of Winter town often. It was a good thing, she thought, to have told her mother about this. Now she could realize just how she was being ensnared in what could be a trap. Was she really this naïve? Not anymore. She was determined to discover if Robb really was as she seemed to be.

"To part with you breaks my heart, Cassie." Her mother words stilled her and she immediately felt her vision become very blurry and grey. The thought to cry never crossed her mind, but just instantly hearing her mother's words had done the trick. Sniffling, Cassandra quickly tried to blink them away.

"You'll be here for two more days." She tried to conjure up a smile. It was weak, but a smile nonetheless. "Let's save our goodbyes for that day." She didn't want to think that she would be alone here without family. She couldn't let her nerves be frayed by the thought, she just wanted to get this wedding over with.

Cersei smiled at what she was assumed was this fragile, brave face. She had let Ryia down to the floor before wrapping her arms around her, her hand rubbing her back as she kissed the side of her head. "I knew this day would come. I just hadn't thought it would be this soon. I have no one to blame except your father for this."

"Please, Mother." Looking over her shoulder and at the wall, Cassandra thought of the many times she had been held by her mother. Her arms had been the one place she sought to be when she was scared or sad. Just the squeeze from her mother seem to mitigate all those stressful feelings away. And to think this would be one of the last times she was able to see her mother for this much needed embrace made the tears spring to her eyes much stronger now. She refused though, to let them fall and stain her face. She quickly wiped them away while they still remained in her eyes before parting her mother's embrace.

"I've raised you to be dutiful and to know what life expects of you." Cassandra nodded obediently, "And your father has taught you strength and bravery, much more than I should give him praise for." She smiled at that, snickering at the fact her mother hated giving her father credit when it was due. "But just because you're strong and dutiful, that doesn't mean you won't suffer. If you're suffering, Cassie, you must let me know."

Her eyes looked up to meet her mother's, who was giving her a very expectant look. It was as if she wanted this to be a promise, and Cassandra wasn't sure if it was wise. Her mother took anything as a slight and even if Cassandra felt dissatisfied by something, her mother was sure to blow it out of proportion. Cassandra did know, however, that she would have to appease her as she always did. "I promise, Mother."

"Good." Cersei smiled and rubbed the side of her face, "I'm going to go make sure Tommen and Myrcella are seated. You come down when you are ready, but do not stay here too long."

Nodding again, Cassandra watched her mother leave until she was the only human left in the bedchamber. It felt like all the life had been sucked out of it and she was left to sort herself out, which she didn't feel possible. How does someone prepare to marry someone they have only spoken few times to? Essentially a stranger.

Her eyes turned to Ryia, who laid across her bed, lounging about. If only she were a lion, she would get do what she wanted to do. "Are you ready, Ryia?" She asked the Hrakkar, who turned its head to gaze up at her. "Winterfell will be your home too."

The Hrakkar gave her a low growl, making her wonder if she wasn't as happy about that either. Smiling, she stroked the white-haired animal and turned to walk out of the room. Once she opened the door, the lion cub jumped down and went sprinting out ahead of her.

Josselyn stood before her, smiling with a black cloak, her maiden's cloak in her hands. Cassandra had forgotten all about it. Her bestfriend and handmaiden had slowly and carefully draped it on her shoulders, smoothing out any creases that formed to make it perfect. "Can't forget that."

She escorted Cassandra through Winterfell and down to where her father stood at the doors. He was dressed much more dashingly than she would've expected, but it was his duty as king. His head slowly turned to look at her and his ruddy face was beaming with a smile. "Look at you!" Robert shouted as she walked towards him shyly. It wasn't a common occurrence for her father to praise how she looked. Most men looked at your face, not your entire ensemble. "My little girl, finally a womangrown!" He said as his large hands rested on her small shoulders.

As she raised her head to look him in the eyes, she noticed that they were glassy. Her lips parted in surprise as his eyes remained crinkled, possibly trying his best not to shed a tear. She didn't think he'd be that emotional, and to her surprise he truly was. It made her heart ache, out of happiness and out of sadness.

"You look handsome, Father." Cassandra playfully pulled at his fine doublet. "You usually don't dress so sharply."

"For you I will, Cassie." Her entire face lit up, "I'll probably spill some wine on it later 'cause I'm that fucking clumsy." For the first time today, Cassandra laughed. She did not doubt that her father truly meant that, even if it was spilled unintentionally. "Are you ready, girl? The Starks are patient, but your mother is not."

Nodding, she took his proffered arm, and watched him tap the door with his knuckles twice. Soon it opened and they both walked down the path to the Godswoods.

Millicent had been right about one thing. It was certainly snowing.

The sky was dark, clouded with grey and the air was of sheer coldness that tingled down her spine. It hadn't stopped her from thinking how beautiful the crystals of ice were as they fell from the sky. There wasn't a lot, she suspected, since there wasn't enough to make the snow on the ground round like Rickon said. Her feet didn't make a crunch since a pile of it wasn't on the ground for her to step in.

It seemed like a different world out here, and she watched how one snowflake fell and melt right on her nose. It scared her, making her wonder how it was perfectly intact but melted on skin.

"You'll be seeing a whole lot more of this." Her father said, making conversation. He was smiling down at her, possibly observing how awe-struck she was of it all. Her eyes didn't look up at him, just simply enjoying how it scattered in the air as it fell. It was remarkable and she wondered if Steffon was enjoying it all too.

As soon as they met the assembled masses of Northerners and Southerners that came to see them married, she watched as they all stood upon the sight of her. Her green eyes immediately looked for Steffon, who was standing right next to Joffrey in the first row. He was dressed nicely and his long hair was free. His eyes instantly met hers and he quickly gave her a smile and she returned a ginger one of her own.

Seeing him had made her speeding heart calm, especially seeing him mouth 'you look wonderful'. That had made her truly happy. Steffon could cheer her up just by her looking at him. Cassandra kept to her father's pace before catching the sight of Lord and Lady Stark, who smiled upon the sight of her.

It made her wonder if she would ever have to time to really get to know them. Lord Stark would be the Hand, and so she doubted that. She didn't really make the time to really speak with him either since he intimidated her. Lady Stark, she had a very solemn look sometimes, but her face was much friendlier today. She might be easier to speak with, especially since she would be part of her family now.

Looking forward again, she had looked up at Robb and felt her heart quicken in pace. The sight of him left her speechless, mainly because his eyes seemed like the brightest things upon the setting. Also because he was smiling. It didn't seem forced either, it was strange, just how beautiful he was. There were snowflakes in his dark, auburn hair and some flakes falling down from his shoulders.

Grey Wind was at his feet, Ryia right beside hers. They made themselves part of the Wedding too, Cassandra childishly thought. Perhaps they saw it as their day just as much as it was their masters. Silver stayed by Steffon, she noticed, and made no move towards Ryia like he usually did. It seemed the animals were much more understanding of the situation than Cassandra ever thought they would be.

Once they were finally at the heart tree, Robb looked to her father. "Who comes? Who comes before the Gods?"

"Cassandra of House Baratheon comes here to be wed." Her father said the words, smiling as he did. "A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble, she comes to beg the blessings of the gods. Who comes to claim her?"

"Me," Robb looked sure, eyes focused. "Robb of House Stark, heir to Winterfell. I claim her. Who gives her?"

"Robert of House Baratheon, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm. Father of Cassandra Baratheon." Cassandra watched as her father turned to her, his eyes shimmering with what she thought to be pride. "Princess Cassandra, will you take this man?"

"I take this man." She replied breathlessly. It was hard to speak, let alone breathe. Now her father had given her to Robb, the both of them joining hands. She shyly took a glance at him, seeing as he was boldly doing that to her before they knelt before the heart tree.

Bowing their heads, bearing their submission to the Old Gods, they had spent a few moments in silent prayer. Cassandra prayed that her brother would be happy, that her family would be safe as they returned to the South, and that Steffon, when king, would live for a long reign. She prayed that House Stark would live long and healthy as well. She even prayed that the Seven Kingdoms only knew prosperity. Lastly she prayed to the Old Gods that she would be a good wife with healthy sons and daughters in the future.

When the both of them were done, they had stood together, but she was made to turn her back towards him. He began to remove her maiden's cloak and replaced it was a cloak of House Stark, the sigil of the direwolf ever present. Even though this was meant to mean that he was taking her into his protection and into her family, it felt like it meant to forget her own.

Her eyes looked sadly at the maiden's cloak now in her father's hands before turning towards Robb. Swallowing thickly, she slowly looked up to meet his eyes. There was something comforting about his smile and she found herself smiling in return to rid herself of the sadness that was blooming inside her.

"Go on now," The both of them looked towards her cheerful father, "Kiss the girl! I won't get mad unless you don't."

There was laughter among the crowd, and Cassandra turned to Robb feeling a little better by her father's need for humor. At least that lightened the air.

Robb cupped her face with one hand before leaning down, his kiss like a soft caress. It obliterated every thought that came to her mind, and she seemed entirely focused on it. Possibly, not too much, since it ended quite briefly; the duty was done and the ritual had been performed. She didn't get the chance to savor his lips, understand what they taste like or why there was warmth in them. Her first kiss was almost like a passing thought, like it never even happened.

A roar of applause came and with their intertwined hands, they turned to look at their friends and family, even though some were strangers to the both of them. She couldn't fixate her gaze onto anything because she had been in a daze. Her face was presenting the smile but her eyes were glossed in her stupor.

She was Cassandra Stark now and that wasn't even important to her at the moment. She was too busy wondering why his simplistic kiss had her feeling so muddled.

 _ **ROBB**_

His wife.

He would've never thought he would be saying that so soon. As they sat in the Great Hall upon the feast, the only thing he could do was stare at the girl he was going to be spending the rest of his life with. Her eyes were crinkled, filled with mirth, as she spoke to her brother that came up to the high table to speak with her. He couldn't register what they were saying because he was so shell-shocked and halfway memorized by just the looks of her.

She was beautiful, but more than just in appearance. She had this sort of way with her that made you naturally comfortable as if she was a long lost friend and the time apart didn't deteriorate anything. Then other times, Cassandra could come very cold and aloof; needing this sort of space or seeing right through you with this honed look. It made him unable to cross that bridge with her. It was never open, it was either closed or halfway lowered, but Robb found himself determined to walk it. Even if it meant going through obstacles just to do it.

He hardly knew what to make of her and whether this marriage would start off well or not. Since they got here, she didn't say anything and she hardly looked him in the eye for very long. Cassandra would say what she needed and then avert her gaze. Did she hate him? Was she resenting him now that they were married and things couldn't change? He had thought often of how she spoke of her deep love for her family, and he was sure he saw her frown when he removed her maiden's cloak. He had hoped that was a trick of his mind and now he was starting to believe he had really seen it.

"Robb." He heard someone call his name, and for the life of him he couldn't really bring himself out of his head. Then someone snapped their fingers in front of his face, startling him and making him blink several times. Before him was Jon, who looked worried. He was surprised to see him, but he had heard that Steffon and Cassandra both invited him to the wedding. Normally his mother wouldn't allow it, especially out of fear of how Queen Cersei would feel, but the prince and princess had much more say than she did. Right next to Jon was Theon.

"Are you alright?" Jon had questioned him, his brow lifting. "You've been staring at your wife for Gods-know how long."

At least he lowered his tone there or maybe he was lucky at the fact Cassandra was too busy speaking with her twin. His brows furrowed and he gave Jon a frustrated look, who looked at Cassandra and saw his mistake. "Can you blame him, Snow? Just look at her. Then he gets to bed her tonight; getting rid of that virginity he's been holding like a noble lad."

His frown deepened and his eyes shakily looked back at his wife, relieved to see that she hadn't heard them. "Will you both mind your words!" He muttered through gritted teeth.

Theon rolled his eyes, "What? She's gonna be there too. She already knows about it."

"That's not the point, Theon, and you know that." Robb tried his best to naturally stand, alerting the attention of his wife and Steffon. "Theon wants to speak to me privately, I'll return."

Cassandra nodded guilelessly while Steffon rose a curious brow, "You and I will need to have a talk, Stark." He said with half a smile, "And be mindful of whose sister you're talking about, Theon."

It didn't surprise him that Steffon knew just how perverse Theon was. It didn't take long for him to know that Theon was giddy about his friend becoming a "man" as he would say. "What does that mean?" Cassandra asked and before Robb could cover the tracks, Steffon stepped in.

"Oh, you know, Theon has been looking at Lord Umber's daughter, but I told him that the Smalljon is here and he needs to be mindful. They say he has a temper like his father and Theon does _not_ want to get his head split open."

The Greyjoy squinted at the threat as Steffon kept that smirk on his face. Cassandra, innocent in mind of it all, looked at her brother and then at Theon. "Oh, I see." She simply said, "Please be careful, Theon. I wouldn't like any blood spilt on this day of mine. I'd like to think about it fondly, not in horror."

"Of course, Princess." Even though she was a princess no more, Theon was only being respectful. _'For once.'_ Robb added in his head before shooing both his half-brother and best friend along for the proper place to talk.

As soon as they weren't around too many ears, Robb folded his arms. "Are you out of your mind, Theon?! What if Cassandra would've heard you?!"

"What?!" He raised his arms in exasperation, "It isn't that big of a deal! I mean, you're both gonna consummate this marriage of yours, you have to. And all I did was compliment your wife, she's beautiful; a princess! You, Robb Stark, got yourself royalty as a wife. Lucky bastard is what you are is what I'm really saying."

"How about you not say anything at all?" Jon added in, his arms crossed as he leaned against the wall. "I forget that is a bit too hard for you."

Theon cut him a glare, "Nobody asked you, Snow. Just cause you'll be wringing yourself with your own hand all your life doesn't mean you get to tell me shut it."

Robb looked back and forth at the both of them, sighing in annoyance. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he finally settled to be the calm one as usual. "That's enough from the both of you. I don't want to spend my wedding night with a headache."

"You need to be spending it with your wife. Speed up the process, Robb. All you have to say is that you both want to retire for the night. Go on, I know you're thinkin' 'bout it."

Turning away from Theon, he looked at the high table to see that his wife was no longer there. Blinking twice, he caught sight of her in the middle of the room, dancing with his father. Robb couldn't recall ever seeing his father dance, which was probably why all eyes were on the center of the room. Murmurs were spoken, especially among the North folk.

Ned Stark was a bit stiff, only finding himself properly placed in the music after a few more minutes. A rare smile was on his face as the two were speaking, Robb had no clue what they could be talking about.

"She got father to smile and to dance?" Jon was shocked as well, standing there with his eyes as big as they can possibly get.

With the dramatics, Theon rubbed his eyes in disbelief. "Not even the Drowned God can explain that."

"She has a way with people." Steffon startled them all, "She can be charming when she has a good rest and likes the person she's speaking to. Other than that? She's the seventh layer of the Seven Hells."

That worried him. What exactly did Steffon mean by that? He hadn't met Cassandra's temper and he wasn't sure if he wanted to now. "Good luck with that." Theon snickered, nudging his side. Both him and Jon looked as if they gave him a silent prayer.

"Are you looking forward to the hunt tomorrow? It'll be the last one." It would be too awkward to speak about his sister, especially since within an hour or so he would have to complete their marriage. He didn't want to talk about her to him right now.

"Aye," Steffon answered, seemingly alright with the change in topic. "I didn't go to the others, so I must go to this one."

"So you can be upstaged?" The Greyjoy taunted with a grin, "Nothing can outrun my arrows."

Amused, the prince nodded. "Is that so? I'm not too sharp with an arrow, I'm more of a swordsman."

"So there's somethin' not even a prince can do, huh?" Robb looked at his friend questioningly, wondering why Theon was so competitive.

"That doesn't mean you'll win, Greyjoy." Combing back his hair, a look came across his eyes that Robb couldn't well understand. "How about this…" Standing straight, he held out his hand, "The best man is the one who takes down the biggest boar."

"You're on!" They quickly shook on that, "And whoever loses has to eat the boar's hide!"

Jon and Robb both frowned in disgust at that. Nobody wanted to eat the animal's hide, only the greedy or the poor would. Steffon laughed, undoubtedly sure that he was going to win. "And take the furs and wear it too."

Robb had a feeling that Steffon was going to do his best to win, but nobody knew just how determined Theon could get more than he did.

"It's time for the bedding ceremony!"

Robb was caught completely off guard, his eyes wide as he looked around to see who had said it. Nevermind who did because the Great Hall was filled with jeers and cheers, some men clapping as they laughed about it. Robb had knew this time would come, but he thought he might of had the chance to prepare for it.

Steffon, at his right, immediately look to his sister, who looked around as the catcalling began. Robb searched for her as well and was surprised to see how unbothered she was about it. She didn't look the least bit scared, she didn't look happy either. She looked prepared, like she knew this was to happen. That this was expected.

When her eyes found him, she gave him a nod and Steffon grabbed his shoulder rather roughly. "Be gentle with my sister, Stark. I'll save our talk for tomorrow." And with that, the Crown Prince had walked away, leaving Robb feeling all sorts of disoriented. Theon pushed him forward, Jon quietly behind, as he was made to stand next to his wife.

They were hurriedly pushed into the hall, women grabbing and touching him in such random and even intimate places, giggling as they did. The invasion was strange, but he knew it to be a custom. What he didn't like was that Cassandra was forced to endure it as well, by the hands of men. As he turned to look at her, she had swatted a hand that was coming too close to her backside and gave them a warning look. They pulled the laces of her dress, letting it fall and letting her step out so that she was now in her shift.

By the time they reached his bedchamber, he was bare and Cassandra was too. Neither of them protected and shielded by the clothes they had worn.

A lady's modesty hadn't come to mind regarding her, even when the door was completely shut. She merely stood there as if she wasn't even naked. All she did was gently slip the circlet off her head and place it down on his desk, taking the pins out of her hair and unloosening the braids. He never thought that Cassandra would be so at ease about it. Usually a woman was shy, covering herself, since this was the first time a man would see her, and yet she behaved as if she didn't care. Like they weren't going to have sex to make this marriage completely sealed.

"There's no reason to get worked up over it." She told him, almost like she was reading his mind, as let her hair be unbound. Free. "You have a cock and I have a cunt and breasts. Wow, I am so very shocked. My maiden eyes."

 _'Is she even real?'_ He thought as she turned to look, still surprised by her blunt sarcasm. "You're not…" Blinking a few times, he raked his fingers through his curly hair, "You're not nervous?" Robb had to make sense of it. He had to make sense why she was unbothered and why he was the only one that was.

"I am nervous." She told him in a soft voice, "But not about parts."

"How do you… How do you even know about boy parts?"

Her eyes slewed to his face, almost like she hadn't believed that he said that. "Boy parts? I'm sure you know all about a girl's. I read and my Uncle Tyrion, well, he tells me everything when you ask him. It was strange since my uncle is infamous for his whoring. And the pictures in the books were… unsettling, but I'm well-knowledged."

This was his wife. This girl that seemed so fearless in such the oddest of times. This girl, who didn't care that she naked before him and he before her, was his wife.

Making her way towards him, she stood before him and allowed his eyes to take in every part of her. Cassandra was more full-figured than he thought, her hips and thighs were fleshy and her breasts weren't as busty as the corsets and bodices made them out to be. They weren't small neither. Robb was sure they could fit in his hands but he was unsure if making such a move would make her uncomfortable.

Her eyes were taking him in too and he had no idea what she thought about him because she kept her expression controlled. Her eyes didn't linger at any place for too long before she settled to meet his gaze.

He was the man, he reasoned. He figured she was asking him to take the lead in all of this. As nervous as he was, he could feel his own desires giving him the power to take the initiative. He stilled when she raised her hand, letting her slender fingers ghost along the back of his nape, letting her unsharp nails glide over the goose-pimpled skin.

Inhaling sharply, his eyes that were staring down at her lips before looking up into the green gems that were her eyes. "Is it alright if I kiss you, Princess?" He had to ask in a rather humid whisper, almost pleadingly too. He had to ask or else he would've done it anyway, but he wanted to know if this was what she truly wanted. Robb didn't want to take the chance that this was Cassandra putting on a airs and that she would come to hate and regret it all the next morning. But by the Gods, he was tempted and he knew self-restraint was so hard because he was a virgin himself.

Cassandra gave him a feeble nod and didn't need to say or do anything else. With hooded eyes, he crashed his lips onto hers, not giving himself or her any time to do something as silly as think. Unlike their kiss at the heart tree, she had leaned into him, body and all, letting the soft and cushioned plush of her breasts press into him.

Robb couldn't help but wonder why her body, this body of a woman he only knew for a short time, had felt perfect being meshed up against him. He had no reason to believe that love was the reason why she felt like a good fit or because they were fated to be together, but it puzzled him in the midst of their active mouths that only parted when they needed deep breaths between kisses.

Wanting the boundaries to lessen, to be of nonexistence, he hoisted her up and Cassandra wrapped her toned legs around his waist, her thighs tightly constricting his hips. It made her breast press harder against chest, so much so that he could feel her hard peaks frictioning against him.

Bringing her towards his bed—their bed now since they were married—he eased her gently on her back, not once detaching his lips from her own. It was her that pried their lips apart, looking at him doe-eyed and not in nonchalance like she had minutes ago. He wondered if she was feeling afraid now and if he had been too hasty, ignoring how painful and frightening it might be to her.

"We can always wait, Princess. We don't have to rush this."

Shaking her head, she rested her soft hands on his shoulders. "It's not that I am not ready." Confused, his brows knitted together as he awaited for her to explain. "I was wondering if you have ever done this before."

"No, never." He replied to her softly, "I've never been with anyone before."

She seemed relieved by that and Robb wasn't sure why exactly. Did the both of them being inexperienced mean that much to her? He couldn't comprehend it all anymore when he felt her lips kissing his quickening pulse. All thoughts were banished as he seem to have melted, disregarding everything in this moment.

All his mind could center around was her, letting his hand wander up her hips as gave sweet pecks at nearly every inch of neck, leaving no parts untouched. His member was growing, hardening, with each touch and kiss that took place, and began to brush up against her lower stomach to let itself be known. Cassandra hadn't been startled by it and was perhaps too shy to let her eyes curiously look down. Instead, she needily sucked along the slope of his neck, not paying any heed to anything else.

Sweeping his hand up against her inner thigh, he watched her eyes flutter and squeezed tightly close as he inserted a finger into her wet womanhood. With a stuttering breath, he felt her thighs quiver and clamp around his hand, not stopping him from letting the second digit slip through when he thought she was comfortable by the first invasion. Robb moved them in slow circles while his eyes wanted to memorize every expression she had let him be gifted with. Whether it was greed or his pride, he buffed his fingers inside her, wanting more reactions, wanting her to become louder than the soft and breathless sounds she gave him. She gave into that he demanded, each moan loud and shaky, his name being said in a quivering breath.

Once he was sure she was ready for him, that she was pleasured enough that the pain that was to come next wasn't too intense, he situated himself and grabbed hold of his throbbing cock and slipped into her.

Being mindful, he eased himself inch by inch so that she could riven herself to accommodate him. She had sucked in a fierce breath and then grit her teeth, half-pained and what he assumed was half-pleasured. His eyes watched every expression and found himself worried when she opened her eyes, revealing a rather teary gaze. "Cassandra, are you—"

"I'm fine." She quickly told him, "Just keep going."

Nodding, Robb started to move inside her, thrusting his hips as that galvanizing energy within him kept billowing. His adrenaline was high and even though he wished it to slow, he couldn't, he wanted to run on all the fumes until exhaustion. How could he? The deeper he plunged between her legs, the tighter and slicker her inner walls would become.

Cassandra was brimming with tears, but it wasn't out of pain. She looked confused, pleasured but confused nonetheless. It was like she couldn't really understand all that was felt the same, astounded that this was how it felt when two people came together. It wasn't love, he knew that, but for a second he thought he might have known it gazing at her. "Is… Is my heart supposed to be beating so fast?"

"I don't know but mine is too." He answered her with labored breaths, "Do you want to slow down?"

"No," She shook her head fiercely, "let's go faster."

There was really nothing bashful about her, and he couldn't help but chuckle. "If that's what the lady wants…" Robb obliged her, wondering if taking the precaution to keep a steady pace was actually unnecessary. As soon as he began to drill in, using nearly all his strength, his mind had immediately become blank. All there was right now was him, Cassandra, this room, and the mindless pleasure that they were creating.

With every thrust, burying himself to the hilt, she had clutched onto him tighter—bracing herself for each ramming. He wasn't even sure he was built to last this long, but he wanted her to reach her end with him. With one hand, Robb traveled down to fondle one of her breasts, squeezing and kneading it into his hand, making her voice sound like it had shattered.

She finally matched his rhythm, stirring her hips, tangling her fingers in his hair. It was the perfect unison now, allowing him to pump faster, harder as she had wanted, until neither of them could see straight. Cassandra had soon reached her peak, her legs and insides clamped down so tight around his waist and his hardness. That was the last bit of stimulation he needed to spill his seed inside her—his body shuddering and then loosening limply, happy about his release. His mind was hazy, vision laced in white, as his ears were filled with the sounds of her passioned scream bouncing off the walls of his room. She still convulsed beneath him and clung onto him, her chest rising and falling frantically against his own when she began to come down from her high.

Not wanting to crush her with his weight, Robb had pulled himself out of her and rolled to his side. His eyes closed briefly, still panting, and trying wrap his mind around of all that had happened. He watched her slip under the blankets and furs, pulling them up to her shoulder. As soon as his eyes came to look at her, he had caught her staring up at him.

This time, she was shy, and attempting to cover that bashful smile of hers that he catched a glimpse of. "What?" He asked her, calmly and curiously.

"Nothing." She answered him, her eyes swirling with something unknown to him. "I just…" She trailed, her brows knitting together like she was trying to thinking about what she was about to say. "I just wanted to thank you."

Thank him? He was puzzled, uncertain of why she wanted to thank him. His eyes didn't look away from her not once, "For what?"

"For making this painless…" Cassandra averted her gaze for a short while before looking back at him, "And special." Without another word, she turned away from him, letting her back face him now.

He chuckled, smiling now. Letting out a satisfied sigh, he looked up at the grey ceiling. "You made it special for me too, wife." He wasn't at all sure if she had fell asleep or that she had heard him because she didn't move. Robb closed his eyes, deciding to let his exhausted body get the rest it deserved.

* * *

 **A/N : **I'm sorry there wasn't a whole lot of Steffon in this chapter, but the next chapter is mainly centered around him. This is Cassandra and Robb's wedding, so of course the focus would naturally be on them. Steffon will be getting all his shine after this.


	5. Chapter Four: Bitter Boy

**Author's Note** :

* * *

 _ **ROBB**_

There were a lot of things unusual about the South, mainly concerning the royals. Theon and himself had watch the Crown Prince send the stable boy away, giving him a gold dragon as he did so that he could prepare his horse himself. He fastened his own saddle, tightened his own reins, and even brushed the mane of the steed. Not even Robb, just a lord's heir, had ever been made to do that. In fact, he couldn't even recall even choosing to. You could say this was an act of humbleness, but such an act was usually unseen. Unfamiliar, unheard of. Theon was more than shocked, so much so that it seemed as if he disapproved of it. "Who does he think he is?" He heard Theon say, "It makes us look bad."

"How? You prepare your own horse and my father's." Robb said with confusion, unsure of why Theon seemed offended. "It only proves that the prince doesn't rely on others, he does things himself. That's the sign of a good future king."

Sucking his teeth, his best friend rolled his eyes. "No, it just means he's a show off." Robb saw it as Theon being jealous for petty reasons. It was his job as ward, so Robb didn't quite understand Theon's grievances. It could've been the rivalry bubbling due to the bet they made yesterday increasing as the minutes gone by.

With a shake of his head, he decided to pay Theon no mind and mount his horse swiftly, taking hold of the reins as soon as he was settled. Almost immediately, it occurred to him that his sword was at his waist. Before he could consider climbing down or calling a servant to obtain it, it was handed to him.

"Looking for this?" Turning his head left, he saw his wife holding out his longsword in the palms of her hand, handing it over for him to take. "I saw it as I was getting dressed. I took it upon myself to give it to you in person."

There were a hundred eyes looking at him. Among those eyes were the prince, Theon, his lord father, and even the King. All of them were staring at this declaration of the princess' kindness and it was possibly assumed as a loving act. His gaze fixed themselves to look at hers in his shock, capturing that smile on her face.

He didn't expect for her to show up since when he woke, she was still asleep. He even made sure that he hadn't woke her when he bathed and dressed, but it seems that she was bound to wake early anyway.

Robb had hoped to avoid her for a little while, especially since he wasn't sure how to face her after last night. Just looking at her now, his mind replayed the memory of her in clothless and uttering his name. Just thinking about it all over again had made his face warm, to the point that it was about to be hot and eventually redden.

His hands slowly moving to take the sword from her, a smile taking place after being held back. As soon as he was able to fastened to his sword belt, he caught sight of her hands quickly moving to be folded behind her. The Stark heir really was unsure why such a blunt person had such random moments of timidness. All she did was give him his sword, but it really did feel much more intimate than such a simple gesture. That was the reason why everyone was staring at them now. "I came to tell you to be careful and don't die. I wouldn't like for any rumors to be spread that I prayed for your death out there."

Unable to stifle his grin, he let himself chuckle at her jest. "We wouldn't want that." His eyes crinkled, the rest of his laughter in his eyes. "Though I imagine this your way of telling me to stay safe."

"Maybe." Cassandra told him with a half smile and a shrug. "And because I'm not too fond of the idea that my uncle decided to not come along." He knew she meant the kingsguard knight, Jaime. He too found it strange that he had not decided to come to protect his king. Perhaps it was for the best that the Kingslayer didn't come along. It would certainly ruin the mood and people were bound to talk harshly about him, but it was be even more so now since he hadn't made the king his priority.

At the princess' feet was Ryia, the Hrakkar, and she sat perfectly content, almost knowing her princess wasn't leaving just yet. It gave him some indication that she wanted to speak with him longer and he couldn't help but to feel happy that she decided to give him the time when it could've been spent with her brother and the king.

Despite the rather intense and intimate wedding night, he could tell that Cassandra wouldn't let him get too close. Even now, being as kind, she had taken a few measured steps away from him. This had to be a sign that she might be more willing to let him take a few more steps forward on building what could be a comfortable marriage. He would have to go at her pace or that could've been him reading too much by it. He was unsure whether he was over-thinking or that had been her purpose.

"I promise you, Princess, that I'll return whole and well." The tone in his voice was playful, but he had meant what he said. He had gone to hunt many of times in the Wolfwoods with his father and brothers that he didn't think anything could possibly go wrong now.

 ** _STEFFON_**

Riding through Winter town from Winterfell wasn't really eventful. People knelt at the sight of his father and Lord Stark, eyes roaming their faces to keep the image of them in their minds. There were many women who tried to discreetly stare at him. He properly responded with a smile and wave, but if they had any response it was either grinning, meek aversions of the eyes or whispering to one another. Theon's face had gone sour upon both reactions. The bet they made yesterday was still fresh on his mind and he planned on winning, but he was unsure of why Theon's friendly and competitive nature had taken a rather sharp turn to the left. Robb seemed confused by it too and so he knew an explanation wouldn't be given to him.

"I hear you have a bet with the Greyjoy," Joffrey said to him, making him look right at his younger brother to properly give eye contact while in conversation. He knew that ignoring his younger sibling would only make things worse. "I wish to partake in it… Though I suppose it wouldn't be fair since I'd outdo the both of you. The two of you are so old… could you two even see the animals even while still?"

Joffrey liked to dig at him, even when the situation didn't even call for it. Steffon kept himself composed even though he was ready to give him a sneer. If you gave Joffrey any sort of reaction, he would feel like he won. The best way was to kill his mood was with kindness; maturity. "Well, little brother, you do hunt more than I do." Forcing himself to smile, he turned his head towards the sky to bask in the surprisingly warm morning. "But this is different than chasing and hunt Tommen's cats and strays you'd find 'round the castle. These are real and wild animals, Joff."

Short-tempered as he was, he soaked in the insult right away. His brows bowed furiously and his eyes narrowed into a glower. "I know that!" spat Joffrey, "I bet I can take down a deer before you or that pisspoor ironer lackey does!"

Keeping that smiled that grate his brother's nerves, he gave a sluggish shrug of his shoulders. "We'll see, Joff. We'll see."

Steffon couldn't help but feel sorry for little Sansa. The girl was pretty, a Tully looking girl. She was very sweet, always polite when they've engaged in rather brief conversations. It was obvious she was too besotted with Joffrey to have no idea just how insufferable his ingrate of a sibling truly was. He wished she could be warned. If he had warned her about it then the marriage would surely be no more, at least that's what he thought. For damn sure, his father did not want that marriage to break. He already solidified one, he wanted the other as well.

It was far too obvious for the eldest Baratheon that Robert had naively thought Sansa might be able to fix Joffrey, sweeten him if you will. Just overall make the boy less cruel. Could she do that? With every fiber of his being, Steffon believed that to be bullshit.

"Ned, my boy isn't much of a hunter. I have to practically beg the boy to go with me and now he suddenly wants to hunt." His father's voice broke him out of his thoughts, making him fix his focus at his father and Lord Stark that rode just a little bit in front of him.

Chuckling, Robert looked to Lord Stark who had shifted his attention at Steffon. "What bothers you about hunting, my prince?"

"Its really uneventful if you ask me. In the South, I think the animals are much too aware of us and that's why it takes so long just to spot one." said Steffon, "I hope it'll be more exciting here—Wildings roam around these parts, don't they? I'd like to meet one."

"Meet one? You mean to kill one!" Robert laughed and so did the rest of the men, mostly men of the Kingsguard. Lord Stark only gave a wry smile before his face became solemn again. Steffon understood why it was a must that Wildlings be killed, but he didn't understand if one wasn't a raider and didn't wish to fight then why would killing one be necessary? Hearing false stories about what lied over the Wall, how the Wildlings lived, and their beliefs had marveled him a bit. Just to speak to one and know what life was really like further North always kept sprouting little seeds his thoughts every now and then.

"Of course, Father." He forced himself to smile, and he caught Lord Stark staring at him as he did. He was sure the Warden of the North knew very well that Steffon wasn't bloodthirsty as his father. He also guessed that this would be a conversation saved for another time from the looks of it.

"I'd like to see one of the savages." Joffrey commented with a smile that was something sinister. "Father would show them his king might and beat their wild heads in."

Steffon scowled as Joffrey was purposely feeding their father's ego. Eventually the hunt wouldn't be for a boar but for a Wildling instead. He could see it working too with the way his king father's eyes were shining in thought. "I doubt they'd be so eager." Lord Stark spoke before his father could give in to the temptation. "I'm sure they know well enough the king has arrived to Winterfell and wouldn't start a fight they know they couldn't finish."

That seem to flare his father's temper down, making Steffon sigh in relief. Joffrey was annoyed by the input, especially since his father seemed to have agreed. "They'd do well to fear me."

Steffon purposely kept himself out of the discussion that soon took over, his eyes observing the forests that was the Wolfswood. When they finally found a good spot to leave their horses. Steffon checked Blacktail to see the Valyrian steel clean and sharp, the whetstone completely keeping it as it should. A sword wasn't good for a hunt, so he settled for the spears that were being handed out. He liked to think himself able with one, just not as mighty as he was with steel.

Robb took to a spear as well, Joffrey readying that crossbow he was hardly ever without. Theon counted his arrows, making sure it was enough. Everyone seemed ready before they separated. Lord Stark, his father, and two men of the Kingsguard were one group while Joffrey, Theon, Robb, and himself were another. It was probably the worst group seeing as three out of the four were all competing against one another.

Steffon kept his footfalls quiet, slow, and his ears alert and his eyes observing high and low. His hold on his spear he kept tight as he tried to find any sight of an animal. Theon had an arrow halfway drawn, his eyes zipping around the forest. Robb was keeping stealth as he was, even stopping at the faintest of sounds. Joffrey, however, would stop now and again to survey the spot with his arrow completely drawn. Steffon feared that if they came across another person that he might accidentally fire.

What surprised him was how quiet the group was. He expected bickering, unnecessary snide comments or something trivial—

The snap of the branch made the four of them tense. "What was that?" Joffrey said.

"Shhh!" Steffon shushed him as they all began to walk in formation, heading towards the right. They caught the sight of an Elk, chewing on what could obviously be assumed grass. Steffon tried to aim his bow, closing one eye to keep one locked dead on it. He could hear the string of Theon's bow as he drawn the arrow much tighter this time and Joffrey aiming that contraption of his.

Before any of them could launch an attack, a high squeal came so loud that they all covered their ears. The Elk had ran off, leaving Steffon cursing as he winced. When he finally managed to open his eyes and look around, his eyes widened at the sight before. "A boar is heading this way!"

"Afraid of a little boar, my prince?" teased the Greyjoy, smirking as he did.

With a solid kick, he knocked Theon down so that he could fall on the ground and escape the charge the boar was on. It was large, its sharp tusks could've pierced him if Steffon hadn't kicked him.

"Fucking hell!" Seeing how close he was to be the beast's dinner, he didn't hold that look of contempt he did when he was kicked. Scrambling to his feet, he drew his arrow back and fire one, but it only hit the boar's hide and infuriated as well. Joffrey could barely hold the crossbow straight, he was scared and Steffon blamed himself since this was the boy's first hunting trip.

"Joffrey, calm yourself." He tried to assure him, knowing that their differences didn't matter when their lives were on the line.

"I am calm!" It was lie, you could hear how distressed he was as he tried to aim steadily. His arms were shaking and that was enough to let him know that he and Robb would have to be the ones to take the boar down.

Giving each other a look, Robb nodded knowing the risk. He wrapped both hands around the body of the spear and went right while Steffon did the same but went left. "You two will have to be a distraction."

"A what?!" Both Theon and Joffrey snapped at him in unison. The two of them fixed a look at one another, not believing that the two of them agreed on something.

"I'm not being a bloody distraction! You want that thing to chase me?" Theon's eyes were burning holes in the back of Steffon's head, his anger justified in some degree.

"I'm your brother!" Joffrey went on, "A prince! Father _will_ be hearing how you used me like I'm some sheep!" In all honesty, he was sure their father would laugh that Joffrey was made to be the distraction. Now their mother? She would certainly be enraged by such a plan.

Whipping his head to look at them, he wore a very serious expression. "If the two of you want to live then you'll do as I say!"

Robb glanced back at Theon, a silent conversation between looks. It seemed whatever he said in the quiet, Theon decided to listen. "For fuck's sake…" He heard the Ironborn say, "Alright you fucking boar!" He decided to taunt the beast, "Come here so I can shoot you between the eyes!"

The taunt managed to work because the boar geared up, ready to begin its charge again. As soon as it began its run, Robb shot his spear forward and stabbed it right at its side. It gave out a shrill cry and swung its injured side left, making Robb swing with it since he held onto the spear. In midair, he had let go and fell and rolled into the ground. Steffon made his way over to see if he was alright, he couldn't afford letting Cassandra's husband die out here. He was sure his twin would be most upset to know he had done nothing about it.

"Are you alright, Stark?"

Robb slowly made his way to his feet, shaking his hand to deny Steffon's outstretched hand. "I'm alright. Its a stubborn thing, isn't it?" The boar was still trying to find a way to get that sword that pierced him out of him and only became angrier when all attempts failed.

"Indeed." He told him, watching every sporadic movement the beast made. He would have to think of another plan, a much more thorough one. One that might get himself injured in order to take it down. Looking towards Joffrey, he watched his little brother back away, nearing the point where he might run if it got another inch closer to him. "Shoot it, Joffrey!" He demanded. "Shoot it!"

Fumbling with the crossbow, Joffrey managed to fire one arrow and it pierced the boar's leg. With another shrill cry and distracted by the pain, Steffon lunged until he was on the boar's back, and it quickly tried to shake him off as roughly as it could. With fistfuls of the boar's fur, he tried to keep himself steady and be able to unsheathe Blacktail. When the sword had been completely freed, clung onto the boar with his arm, Steffon reached under its large head to slit its neck.

With another cry and stumble, it fell and he fell with it. Robb and Theon immediately went to him, helping him to his feet as he saw his hand and blade coated with the animal's blood. Panting, Steffon tried to calm his racing heart and used his clean and free hand to wipe the trace of sweat of his brow.

"It worked." Looking up at Robb, the two of them shared a victorious grin before looking at Theon, who managed to crack a smile. Joffrey was still trembling, his eyes watching to see if there was any life in the boar. "Its dead, Joff."

"I know that!" He still yelled, even with his voice quavering. "If it weren't for me, it wouldn't be!"

Not giving into an argument, he looked to Theon, who rose a brow at Joffrey's comment. "C'mon, let's take this thing back to the meet up."

 _ **CERSEI**_

Her eyes absently stared the surface of the small, round table in the dining quarter of the guest apartments of Winterfell. Her mind was a muddled mess, mixing with fits of rage and echoes of grief stirring within its depth. Her heart was torn and her nerves wired. The final days were coming and the only thing she could do was plot and succumb to the changes.

Not only was Ned Stark now the new Hand, she would have to leave the girl she raised for seventeen years in this desolate, barren, and cold Wasteland filled with Northerners and Wildling savages. The girl she birthed with every intention of making her, hers and hers alone was now being forced from her grasp. It felt like a newborn child being ripped away from a mother's teat and she had to suffer the pain for the remainder of her life.

Inhaling deeply and exhaling, she tried to keep herself together as she awaited for Jaime to come as she beckoned him to. It might've been sloppy on her part to have him not join the hunt, but the discussion needed to be had. Eventually it would have to be away from here, nowhere near her room for prying eyes and open ears to see and listen. They would have to find the proper place to speak of how they were going to dance around Ned Stark, who was bound to make things hard for them.

The door had slowly creaked open and she had saw Jaime standing there, his eyes looking around the room. He motioned her to follow him with a curl of his fingers and she gathered her skirts to quickly follow him. It had been pure luck that nobody had caught them as they quickly moved about Winterfell. The rush of it all reminding her of all the times they snuck around Casterly Rock to find moments of intimacy. He had led her to what was called the Broken Tower. It was said to be abandoned and the only quiet and safe place.

As soon as the door had been closed, Jaime turned to look at her. "Let me guess, you're upset about the wedding all over again, aren't you?"

"Of course I am upset!" She snapped brusquely, "My little girl is going to be forced to stay here and there is nothing I can do about it. All because of Robert and his infatuation with the Starks."

"Cassie is seventeen, Cersei." Her eyes cut him a glare as sharp as his own sword, "She was bound to be married if not yesterday, but a month for so now or even a year. She couldn't stay unmarried."

"It is not about her being married, Jaime." She shook her head, closing her eyes to keep herself calm. "It is about her marrying that Robb Stark and now having to live in this godsforsaken North and breed him direwolves. She could've married Lancel, I'm sure I could've convinced her."

Her twin rolled his green eyes, folding his arms across his chest. "Not even Tyrion or Steffon could persuade her to do that, Cersei. The boy is a spineless twit. Would you really been happy about that?"

"Nevermind if he has spine or no, she would've been close to me and safe! You know Wildlings roam around these parts and the Northerners could never give her all that she is meant to have. She is a lion... A lion amongst mangy wolves."

How could he not see that? How could he not understand this? There might've been an off chance that Jaime himself was happy that Cassandra would be gone. After all, Steffon and Cassandra weren't his. Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen weren't really his either, at least by right they weren't. Steffon and Cassandra had tore him apart when they were born and he once believed that was her choosing Robert over him. It took time to convince him that wasn't the case. He even grew to love them, more than she ever thought he would. Whether it was naturally or forced for her sake, Cersei never knew. She never asked either.

"Cassie is a strong girl, Cersei. You raised her so." His voice was soothing, despite the turbulent storm roaming across her heart. Jaime was always calm, he never got himself so angered. That meant he was at the breaking point if he did. "She can survive them better than you fear."

Her heart was telling her to believe him. She wanted to believe Cassandra could manage to outwit and adapt to this place. Even if she shouldn't have to, she was feeling sure that Cassandra could.

"When Cassie was little, I used the dyes on her hair. It would get rid all the black; all the made her half of Robert's and give her the Lannister gold. Our gold. Then I made her wear the gowns I use to say were for special occasions and watch her twirl in circles for me, showing me the little dances she learned. I thought she looked so perfect, claiming her all of me in those moments." Cersei smiled as she reminisced the girl in her younger days. Her once little girl so short, chubby in face with her green eyes filled with such life. She had possessed such a pure kind of innocence back then. Now it was undoubtedly ruined after being touched by that Stark boy.

The smile she wore then turned into a deep frown, the look in her eyes becoming hard as the gem they resembled in color. "But then the black would come back. It would start at the roots and eat away at the gold so relentlessly, stripping all that I wanted away. I would hurry to dye it again until I soon realized that even with her mane so blonde as mine, she still didn't look like me. Robert took all traces of me and filled them with him. I cannot find myself when I look at the face of my own daughter. He is all that I see."

"Even when I held Steffon for the first time, I had sworn that he was yours and mine. I would've never thought when he shown me his eyes, they would be Robert's staring back at me. That told me he would always be a Baratheon, never a Lannister. He has my mane, but he has Robert's heart. Robert is everywhere in him; the shape and color of his eyes, the way he stands, and even the way he used to walk and talk when he wasn't the whorish, fat bastard he is now." She said venomously, wringing her hands.

"He even behaves like him except he has cunning, more than Robert could ever possess. All I can do is pray to the Father that Steffon doesn't whore and drink like Robert does too." It didn't even occur to her that tears were rolling down her cheeks, leaving her eyes in such quick pace. She quickly used the back of her wrist to wipe her eyes.

"They were my honeymoon children. The children I thought that might give me what I loss back; my pride, my happiness. But Robert took all of that. He took them just like he has taken everything else from me. How much more do I have to lose? Why is that the children I once bore are being pulled in every which way, but to me? And I had to sit there and watch the Starks take her! Everyone takes and takes, and I am to be left with nothing!"

"That isn't true." Jaime hurried his way over, grasping her shoulders and keeping her still. "You have me, you have Joffrey, you have Tommen and Myrcella. You have the four of us, Cersei. We aren't going anywhere." Releasing the hold on her shoulders, he aimed to cup her face and let his thumbs wipe away the salt droplets. "Mother tried to separate us once, Father did too, and your marriage as well. It has never worked. You and I can't be separated. We will never be separated."

 _ **STEFFON**_

Seeing as Lord Stark and his father weren't done with the hunting, the rest of them had left early. Joffrey complained about how tiresome it was despite not having done much of anything. All Steffon wanted to do was distract himself, he didn't want to think about the hunting trip or the fact that he would be leaving tomorrow. Not that leaving Winterfell mattered. It was leaving the person he knew the entirety of his life, before he even knew what existence even meant. The first person he known would be separated him, made to live a life far away from him.

The smarter thing to do would've been to spend as much time with her as he could. Who knows when they would see each other again? Perhaps she would attend his wedding and feel that sharp pain of how life had truly gone faster than they realized. Seeing his sister strip her maiden cloak was akin to her abandoning their family. Watching that Stag fall for the Direwolf to to lay on her shoulders hurt him. It felt silly, to be pained by such a thing. But it pained him and all he could do was smile for her. Be _happy_ for her.

"My prince." He quickly spun to see Josselyn, her eyes observing him and trying to read the expression on his face. Her face then changed to one of worry, making him wonder if he was wearing his thought too much on his face. "Are you… alright?"

She avoided him for days, barely giving him the satisfaction of eye contact and now here she was asking him if he was alright. He couldn't feel angry though. He never could when he looked at her. Josselyn was comfort. Something to block his mind when he didn't like reality. Even now, seeing the way her short and golden hair waved little in the wind had made him want her comfort all over again.

"So now you see me? I felt like a silhouette to you these past few days." It made him cringe, inwardly, to let her know that he did somewhat miss her. "But my sister taught me that when a girl does that it means that she is quitting you. I suppose I should do the same."

A smirk came across his face at the shock and then disappointment came. So Cassandra really did manage to weasel her way into the girl's thoughts? Whatever she chose to threatened her with had worked. His sister finally learned how to threaten correctly after living in King's Landing all her life. "It's not that I wanted to," She tried to explain, "it is that I _had_ to."

Shrugging his shoulders, Steffon knew this relationship had to end one day. By some off chance, he didn't hope it would be this soon, but the sooner was probably the better. "Do what you must, Josselyn. After all, you'll be staying in Winterfell, won't you? You're not married, so there'd be no reason for you to come back South."

Her nod was slow, almost like she had just realized that herself. At least Steffon knew that Josselyn would protect Cassandra. He could trust her to give his sister the right judgement and to even lay down her life for her if necessary. Though idea of her dying did bring him discomfort; sadness, if he wanted to accept how much he cared.

The silence that fell between them was deafening and made him uncomfortable, so he decided to leave first. Where to? Steffon didn't mind to wander. As soon as he took that first step to leave, she broke into a run and grabbed his wrist. Hitching a brow, his blue eyes looked down at her to understand whys he stopped him. "The least you could do is tell me why you aren't able to love me. At least give me that before it all ends."

"Love is such an inane thing. It truly has no importance to me." His father didn't need love and neither did his mother, so why should he? His father loved one woman. One woman that ruined him to love another.

Even as a boy, he did not enjoy songs of maidens that fell in love with valiant men. He did not want to be their valiant knight. No, he'd rather the stories of men who stormed castles, that laid sieges, that took what they wanted; fought for what they felt was rightfully theirs. Love had made fools of men; men died for love, and he would never be that kind of man. Love made his father a fat and sad man. Love made his mother bitter and unhappy, spoiling her children with the affections she couldn't receive from her own husband. Why love a woman and if she dies, he'd be tortured by her forever? And if she lived, he would give up his own life just to keep her safe? Even the grandfather he knew and love had never been the same since Joanna died. Love either gave you folly or made you cruel. So he would be the balance; loveless yet protective of what he already has, which is his family.

"I don't need it." He told her swiftly, his tone flat. "I never did and I never will." His words hurt her, he could see it with the way her eyes instantly welled up with tears. The sight of her tearing eyes didn't make him feel like he should take back his words. As he raised his hand to be kind to wipe her tears, she slapped his hand away.

"So all you did was use me."

Use. Use was such an ugly word. Steffon didn't think he used her, he thought it was a mutual thing. She was fine with it, she said she was, but perhaps her heart got involved along the way. She loved him and for what? It only proved his point. Love was inane.

It might've been better to be cruel, just so that she could hate him and move on. Lying was something he hated to do, but he'd do it to give her peace. That was the least he could do. "You're right, I did use you."

Josselyn remained quietly, squeezing her eyes shut as if doing that could hold back her tears. They came streaming down anyway and she choked out a sob before she pushed him and went running off. Following her wouldn't help, so he watched her run her way back inside Winterfell. He needed to be alone to sort himself, to rid himself of this guilt and to wonder if he was really such a bad person.

His feet led him aimlessly and he wasn't quite sure where he was going. All he knew was that he wanted to reflect everything and prepare himself for the inevitable tomorrow. Soon he found himself walking down a corridor and going up a winding staircase. Before him was a little landing for a few good steps and then a door. This tower must've been abandoned and his curiosity made him wonder why. As soon as he grabbed the handle, he only managed to open the door by an inch before he could hear that someone was in use of it.

"Don't you see the danger this puts us in?" Instantly, Steffon knew that to be his mother. Why was his mother here in this abandoned towers and who was she speaking to? Danger? What danger could she possibly be in. "Robert loves the man like a brother."

Ned Stark. How could he be a danger to his mother? What could Ned Stark do that made her need to speak to this person in this abandoned tower?

"Robert can barely stomach his brothers. Not that I blame him. Stannis would be enough to give anyone indigestion."

 _'Is that… Uncle Jaime?'_ He knew it had to be. He knew that voice all his life. If he could recognize his mother then surely he could recognize his uncle.

Peeking his head through the crack of the door, he watched his mother glare at his uncle so vehemently. "Don't play the fool. Stannis and Renly are one thing, and Eddard Stark is quite another. Robert will listen to Stark. Damn them both. I should have insisted that he name you, but I was certain Stark would refuse him."

"We ought to count ourselves fortunate. The king might as easily have named one of his brothers, or even Littlefinger, gods help us. Give me honorable enemies rather than ambitious ones, and I'll sleep more easily by night."

A sudden very blotchy, blurry memory came to his mind. It felt suppressed, like he made himself try to forget his ages ago. Why was it coming now? What was it? All he remembered was himself young in the corridor of the Red Keep.

"We will have to watch him carefully" His mother said, obviously frightened. Steffon never heard her so paranoid before.

"I would sooner watch you." Strange, he couldn't help but think. "Come back here." His uncle demanded rather enthusiastically. Many things did not move or entertained his uncle, and so it didn't seem so out of place. But the words were… strange.

"Lord Eddard has never taken any interest in anything that happened south of the Neck." True as it may be, he still didn't understand why did it matter. What did his mother have to hide? "Never. I tell you, he means to move against us. Why else would he leave the seat of his power?" Move against them? What were they plotting?

"A hundred reasons. Duty. Honor. He yearns to write his name large across the book of history, to get away from his wife, or both. Perhaps he just wants to be warm for once in his life." Sometimes it had gone to amaze him how much his uncle didn't care about most things. Always condescending was he.

"His wife is Lady Arryn's sister. It's a wonder Lysa was not here to greet us with her accusations."

"You fret too much. Lysa Arryn is a frightened cow."

"That frightened cow shared Jon Arryn's bed."

"If she knew anything, she would have gone to Robert before she fled King's Landing."

Now he tensed at that. Steffon knew something was off about Lady Arryn running away. Why would she run when her husband just died? Why did she feel the need to escape so quickly? He warned Cassandra of this and she had no idea about it either, but she had also been uneasy. She understood that something was wrong and their mother knew, and so did their uncle. Lady Arryn ran because she knew something that their mother did not want to be found out.

"When he had already agreed to foster that weakling son of hers at Casterly Rock? I think not. She knew the boy's life would be hostage to her silence. She may grow bolder now that he's safe atop the Eyrie." Disgusting. His mother would threaten the life of that sickly boy? That boy who never unlatched himself from his mother's teat? What did Lady Arryn know that was so damning, so needed to be kept secret? He wished they would hurry. He had to know what his mother had done. What did she do where she felt to go to such extremities?

"Mothers." Jaime said, almost like it was a bitter taste rolling off his tongue. "I think birthing does something to your minds. You are all mad." Even the laugh was bitter, like he loathed them. "Let Lady Arryn grow as bold as she likes. Whatever she knows, whatever she thinks she knows, she has no proof." That silence made his heart quicken its pace, his eyes trying to keep capturing their faces. "Or does she?"

"Do you think the king will require proof?" His mother asked, "I tell you, he loves me not."

"And whose fault is that, sweet sister?"

"You are as blind as Robert."

"If you mean I see the same thing, yes. I see a man who would sooner die than betray his king."

"He betrayed one already or have you forgotten? Oh, I don't deny he's loyal to Robert, that's obvious. What happens when Robert dies and Steff takes the throne? And the sooner that comes to pass, the safer we'll all be. My husband grows more restless every day. Having Stark beside him will only make him worse. He's still in love with the sister, the insipid little dead sixteen-year-old. How long 'till he decides to put me aside for some new Lyanna?"

"You should think less about the future and more about the pleasures at hand." Everything in him stilled. Pleasures? His eyes widened at the sight of his uncle kissing… Kissing his mother.

"Stop that!" And she fought him, so weakly, slapping him before her eyes softened at the sight of him. All his uncle did was laugh as if he knew that she hadn't meant it. As if he knew she wanted to be kissed by him.

"All this talk is getting very tiresome, sister." His uncle gripped her wrists, tight, and pulled her close. "Come here and be quiet."

Steffon's hand forced itself to clamp over his mouth as he turned and ran, desperately making his way out. When he found himself outside, with one violent contraction, all the contents his stomach came emerging from his stomach, up his throat, and out of his mouth. All his quick breakfast and all that he ate the day before was leaving him, the muscles never ceasing their contractions, almost like he was expelling all that he ever ate in his entire life.

Everything, everything was such a disgusting lie. The bond between his mother and uncle, twins, was incestuously gross. Wrong in all ways. The mother he loved, that he trusted, had been fucking her brother possibly before he was even born. That wasn't something that just happened as of recent. It must've been happening for years and he never knew about it. _Nobody_ never knew about it. Lysa Arryn must've knew and that was how they scared her back to the Vale. They were even so willing to kill a little boy just to keep their horrid affair a secret.

His head couldn't process the thought and he almost wanted to believe that he was just seeing things. That everything had been just some strange and outrageous nightmare. There was no way his mother and uncle would do this. She may have not loved his father, but to turn to his uncle? Her brother? Her twin, for the love of the Seven. No, Steffon didn't want to believe it. He refused to. And yet all of it was there, all of the evidence, all of it had just happened right before his very eyes. She was with their uncle so intimately. They were going to be together in _that_ way.

Heaving, he wasn't sure what to do with this information. If he had gone to his father about this then both his mother and uncle would die. He would kill them and the realm would demand for their heads on pikes. As much as he hated them with all of his being at the moment, he couldn't let his father kill his mother. Not her. He loved her still, less knowing this, but still. What was he to do? What could he do that didn't lead to her death?

And his sister. His own twin that he had never thought to engage with in such a way. Who was just his sister and nothing more to him. Cassandra… He couldn't tell her this. She'd be devastated and thrice as sick. She would be torn completely apart. He would have to hide from her, knowing that it would kill him along the way. It would kill him to hide such a big secret when he knew the cost of something like this being brought to light.

His eyes stared blankly at the pool of vomit. Some of it was still trailing his lips, viscid and opaque in color.

Steffon knew he had to keep this secret. It had to be kept with him. His only choices were for it to die with him or have his mother possibly beheaded for incest. Tommen and Myrcella, he thought of them now. His baby siblings. Their little hearts and heads wouldn't be able to comprehend it all. They wouldn't understand how wrong all of it was and they did not deserve to be without their mother. They were too young. They needed her.

Love was more than just inane to him now.

It was vile.

It ruined everything.

* * *

 **A/N : **So Steffon is the one who finds out. All the tension that'll rise between going back to King's Landing and during King's Landing will sure be interesting.

One day, a girl will change Steffon. Who that girl will be? I don't know yet! Who do you all think it should be?

One of the twins had to be really messed up with their parents terrible marriage. They both kind of are, but Steffon dealt with it the worse. Obviously. Steffon doesn't want to be in love and pretends to entertain the idea, but Cassandra easily falls in love and has a rough time exactly dealing with it. She is brave the next minute then scared the other because her mother constantly keeps putting ideas in her head that this marriage could end up like her own.


	6. Chapter Five: You Haven't Seen The Storm

**Author's Note** : Don't expect another quick chapter like this from me again. Lol. It was really because I have so much fun writing this now that I'm producing such a quick chapter and also because the reviews are what are really making so inspired. I love all the input, your opinions and perception on things.

Birdy: Your wish is my command!

Trap3r: That would be a very different and interesting take for someone to turn into another Tywin, wouldn't it? Most Baratheon-centered stories usually try to diverge them from their family, so that would be a good twist if I can find it in me to do it. I agree that Margaery or Daenerys would be the good choice. Can't decided between the both of them, I think it might be interesting to have a poll and let fans of the story decide if I remain indecisive. I kind of think Asha/Yara might be a good choice too!

Guest1: Ooooooh, well do I have bad news for you. Lol. I couldn't find it in me to strip B from that fate, I think I want him to have an important role later when it concerns the WWs. Hopefully what S does next will please you and keep you at the edge of your seat!

Guest2: That's a lovely way to think of it. Cass being his anchor and now he has to roam the seas alone. Oh yes, I would definitely describe what he is going through now like a ship abandoned at sea, sailing to unknown waters and to a battle by himself. Most definitely, he needs someone to hold his hand and also tell him like it is.

darwolf76: Thank you so much! I love hearing if I made the character natural to the story because its really hard to do that! To have someone fit in already well-fleshed out characters is hard but I'm glad to see you find them refreshing and well-fitted to canon universe. But instead of praises, you can continue writing your story that I have been patiently waiting on! I need to know the rest, please!

HopelessRomantic44: Thank you!

magicdownunder: I know what you mean! Starks are so well-loved, so you see them in just about every story. Its hard to not want to be apart of those direwolves. I'm too attached to them. One day I will stray... _One day._ I hope you enjoy them, but I hope to make all my stories drastically different so nobody knows what to expect in either one of them.

Loves to read books: I bet you're thinking, "I know I said update soon, but this soon?" I did. I'm sorry. I'm not taking it back.

* * *

 ** _CASSANDRA_**

The news of Bran's fall had reached her right in the middle of her stitching lessons with the girls. The five of them had stood from their seats in an instant but the Starks sisters ran as soon as they were on their feet when they heard that he had been carried to his room. Myrcella had been scared, needle and embroidery hoop in her now trembling hand as she gazed up at her with fear coated eyes. Cassandra instantly knew that she would have to stay behind for her, bending down and rubbing the girl's head, hushing her with lies since she had no idea what was truth. All she could do was soothe her with distractions.

Part of her hoped that young boy's fall had not be terrible and would not give him the taste of the Stranger's kiss. He was so young and so small, she could only wonder why the gods would let such a cruel thing happen to him. Why didn't the Mother protect this child? What had the boy done to deserve to be harmed in such a way? No, questioning the gods was wrong, she remembered. The gods always knew what was right. They knew why people must go through certain paths in life.

Septa Mordane, looking worried to wits end herself, promised to take care of Myrcella if Cassandra wanted to see Bran herself. It would be wise to do so as Robb's wife since Bran was her goodbrother now. As a proper wife, it would show that she had cared for this family. Even if she barely known them, they were her family now. She was supposed to be there for them in times of need; through thick and thin. They had to know that everything she does was within her power to be apart of them and not separate herself. That was her duty, and a fraction of her own heart's desire.

Picking up the skirts of her dress, she had quickly made her way down the hall and to the Great Keep. She had caught sight of her brother, standing in the corridor looking freshly horrified. Her heart seemed to ache at the sight of him looking so brooding. Perhaps Bran's fall had caused him to bear such an expression? Cassandra soon hurried her steps over to him and he backed away from her like she was some sort of giant flame closing in to burn him.

Hurt by the sudden distance, it lessened when he realized it was her. "Steffon…" He hadn't moved away again, she slowly went to take his hand. "Are you alright? You… You've heard of Bran's fall, didn't you?"

He kept his eyes to the floor, seemingly dazed. "I just heard about it…" He said monotonously, "I'm really just shocked is all."

For someone to be in such a shock, it sounded like he held no emotion. Had the news numbed him? It was scaring her, the way he looked and how he spoke. It wasn't like him at all. He hardly look so uncomposed. Her brother, her strong brother, seemed so lost; unconfident. "Something else is going on with you, I know it." She told him fiercely, "What is really wrong, Steffon?"

His eyes slowly lifted up to look at her, staring her straight into her eyes. All she could see was a wall, some sort of barrier in his gaze. It was as if he was hiding something, stopping her from trying to read him. Her frown became deep at the sight and she continuously roamed his face to see just the tiniest signs of what was wrong. "I feel for the Starks." He went on to say, "That's all. Bran is just so young and has so much of ahead him… I keep thinking what if this happened to Tommen."

She became rigid. The image of her baby brother falling from a tower and to the hard ground below had hit her. It had hit her hard. Her chest became heavy with an invisible and insurmountable feeling of weight. When you thought of someone dear in such a situation like that, of course you'd be so despondent. But it was selfish. It was selfish to only feel sadness or pity when it was closer to home.

"But it didn't happen to Tommen, Steffon." This wasn't about their brother. Tommen was already safe and unharmed. This was about Bran and only him. "It happened to Bran and Bran needs your prayers and your thoughts. He needs you to think him well."

"Don't you already know by now, sister?" Cassandra blinked twice, confused by that hollow look in his eyes. "Praying seldom works."

Then he moved to leave her, her hand had let him go without fighting to keep him there, and somehow the hallway felt freezing. Winterfell's halls weren't cold, at least she never experienced it during their stay. And yet now it felt like Winter had came into the hallway, following Steffon like an unforgiving blizzard.

Her brother had suddenly changed. She felt it. There had been a sudden shift in him and a piece of her was hurting because of it, feeling sadness and rage for what felt like something had come in between them. That there was something she hadn't known about him. Steffon never looked to the gods for help or calm, but he had never been so dismissive to those that looked to their faith for guidance and peace. Steffon never demeaned the Seven when she spoke of them, and now he said praying seldom works. Just what happened to him? What happened to her Steffon?

He was the brother she always known just a day ago. What happened within these hours to make him just suddenly change? She heard nothing awry about the hunting trip except for Joffrey's whining, but nothing that should make Steffon like this. Was it because he would be leaving her tomorrow? Was he taking it that hard? Her mother said that separating twins was unnatural and would do more harm than it would good. She worried so much for what parting would do to them. It hadn't really soaked in for her that she would be parting with him either. By some chance, it must've truly sunk in for him.

As his sister, his twin, she wanted to chase him down. Cassandra wanted to assure them that the distance between them would not change anything. How could she promise that? She had no proof whatsoever that they wouldn't drift apart. Letters were different than eye to eye, voice to voice. Not only that, the Starks needed her more at this time. The idea of choosing between her blood and her new family brought a sour taste in her mouth. How many more times would she have to make decisions like this?

Choosing duty first, she quickly went towards the stairwell and towards Bran's bedchambers. The door was already open, revealing the room to be packed. Her eyes immediately caught sight of the little boy lying in bed, seemingly sleeping. He wasn't dead, she figured, but it had somewhat felt like it. It was the way he was so still and the way his mother wept so loudly and so sadly for him that made it seem like the boy had no life in him.

Sansa was crying too, huddled close to Arya, who had shed tears of her own. The bickering sisters had put aside all differences for their brother. Robb was consoling Rickon, the boy was obviously scared and crying because he saw his family crying too. He barely understood what was happening due to his tender age and someone had to walk him through it. Lord Stark stood behind his wife, his hands on her small shoulders, and his head bowed. He did not weep, his face was as cold and hard as the stones that built these walls, but the sadness was all in his eyes.

This was what a family looked like? A proper family, a _loving_ family. A family she didn't have. Where they did their grieving together and gathered their strength for one another like pillars. Cassandra never had that as a whole, she only had Steffon and her mother to rely on in her times of sadness. It spiked through her, this unwarranted jealousy. If only her parents had fallen in love like Lord and Lady Stark did. She would've known what something like this was like. She wouldn't feel envious of those who were blessed with things like this.

Now she felt like an outsider. All of them had leaned on each other to the point it seemed as if she was unwelcomed to join them. Swallowing hard, Cassandra realized that maybe it had been too bold of her to presume that she could just fit herself in right away.

The Maester was the one who saw her and gave her a sad smile before making his way towards her. Each of the Stark's heads lifted and followed him, a little bit surprised at the sight of her. "Lady Cassandra." She didn't think she would ever be used being called lady instead of princess. She hardly responded until she realized it was impossible to ignore him when he stood right in front of her. "You may come in and stay with Bran if you like."

It was kind of him to invite her, but she felt much too timid to now. Cassandra shook her head with a small smile, "He should be around his family, the people he knows, Maester Luwin. I do not want to intrude."

"You are apart of this family now." Luwin insisted, but when he read the look on her face, he seemed to understand her hesitance. "Though I suppose I know what you mean."

Grateful that he understood, she mouthed him a thank you. Luwin's empathy did help lift some of her spirits, the pure part and not the part of her that had been so jealous for its own selfish reasons. "Lord and Lady Stark," She took hold of their attention, the both of them being kind to spare her a few minutes of during this sad time. "I'll do an all-night prayer for him at the Sept. I know there is nothing I am able to do for him except for ask the Seven for their mercy."

A ghost of a smile was given to her by Lady Stark before she gave a nod. "Thank you, Cassandra." Her voice was weak and dry, revealing how hard that she cried. Lord Stark had given her a small smile too with his eyes saying his thanks.

 **lll**

The seven walled room had been the only place she had been in for hours. It was so small and unusual to her since had been used to the large, Royal Sept at the Red Keep in front of the Maidenvault since she was a baby. She missed the Seven altars for the Seven gods and the crystal windows. This Sept was so bleak, not giving her any hope or lifting her spirits by a longshot. It was so dreary, warm, but dreary. It made her feel like all of this was for naught, especially with her legs so sore from kneeling for hours on end. Her mind was tired, wanting sleep or just a simple break, but she kept finding the random spurts of energy to pray.

She looked to the Mother etched in the stones, simply wondering if the Mother would even listen to her. The Mother, so merciful and compassionate, was sure to find favor in her for being so steadfast, wouldn't she? _"Praying seldom works."_ Steffon's voice came breezing through her mind and she was starting to shake in her faith.

 _'What if he's right?'_ She asked herself, _'What if praying doesn't really work? What if the Mother cannot give him mercy? What if the Stranger already has him in his arms?'_ With her eyes prickling with tears, she immediately wiped them away with her sleeves. No, she couldn't give in. She had to pray for the boy. She had take away this feeling that wouldn't shake away from her. Steffon's odd behavior and Bran's unfortunate fall had made her feel like she could be partly to blame. She had done nothing, wished no ill will, and so she shouldn't have reason to feel at fault, so why did she?

The doors of the Sept had creaked open, startling her and making her turn her head to see Lady Stark. Her eyes were red and puffy, her head still being able to be held so high. Even looking so fragile, Lady Stark had the ability to look so poised in fragility. Her goodmother was a woman who didn't allow herself to be easily broken. Cassandra couldn't help but admire her as the woman came to kneel next to her.

"You've prayed for so long, Cassandra." Her voice sounded worse than it had earlier, however this time, there was some strength to it. "Go and leave the rest to me."

"But I promised you—"

"You did and there is no amount of gratitude I can tell you for fulfilling that promise." Her smile spread, a warmth about her emitting from her person and speech. "You are a sweet girl, Cassandra, but you must live your own life. Bran is my son, not yours. He would be moved to know you've prayed this long for him already, but he would also be troubled if you didn't mind your own health."

Cassandra wondered who told her she had skipped lunch and dinner. That she had fasted this long since breakfast. Was it Robb or was it Steffon? No matter who it was, she was going mince them with words for telling Lady Stark such a thing if she found out which one did it.

"Eat and rest." Lady Stark insisted, "If not for you, but for Bran and I." Now she couldn't plead to stay now. Using Bran and herself to make her leave? It was low of her, and she knew it. She looked as if she didn't necessarily want resort using herself and Bran, but she knew it would work. Cassandra frowned and nodded obediently, gathering herself to her feet once the woman let go of her hand.

"Robb is worried about you." Surprised, she grab fistfuls of her skirts. Now she felt guilty for making him worry when his mind should've been concerned about his brother. The last thing he needed was to be worried about someone else, especially her.

Lady Stark had said nothing else, placing her hands in prayer form and closing her eyes. Cassandra looked to the walls with the Seven pictured before turning to leave the Sept. _'He was worried about me?'_ It seemed strange since she figured she would be the last person on his mind right now. It felt stupid to be happy about it. She was his wife and they were friendly with one another. She worried for him too though, she even prayed for him to get through this. It was only natural. It meant nothing more.

In the middle of her walk, she saw Lord Stark coming down in the hall. His eyes immediately noticed her and she had bowed slightly in acknowledgement of his presence. "Lord Stark."

"Princess, you've left the Sept?" She nodded in reply, "Good. I will send food and water to your room, you've prayed long enough."

Meekly looking at the floor, she hadn't realized she made him worry too. This was embarrassing now, she was trying her best to be good and all she had done was made people worry for her. All-night prayers weren't so strange, but Cassandra supposed many people didn't do things like that still. It must be rare nowadays. "My apologies if I worried you, Lord Stark. It wasn't my intention."

"I know it wasn't, Princess." His hand laid on her shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. For a man so stony, he was really kind. You wouldn't think it at the sight of him, it was his actions that showed how he really was. "I appreciate all your prayers for my son."

Finding the strength to look up at him, she took on a more determined gaze. "I will take care of him and Lady Stark while you are gone. Robb will have duties as Lord of Winterfell, so I will do my part and make sure my goodmother and goodbrothers are taken cared of."

Her sudden declaration did indeed shock him, but he sooner smiled. "I am grateful. All I ask is that you take care of yourself in the process."

"Not out of return, but as a request, I ask of you to take care of Steffon and my father for me. My father is blind and my brother… My brother takes on too many responsibilities at home and pressures himself too much. I know you will be filled with duties and you care for my father like a brother, but… I am worried since I am not around to protect either one of them."

He nodded understandingly, smiling as he did. "I will pick up where you left off, Princess. Steffon and your father as well as the kingdom will be my priority. Your father entrusts me to make the kingdom at its best when your brother takes the throne. I won't let none of you down."

Biting down on her lip, the former princess held back any tears of relief that tried to well up. Her eyes crinkled as she smiled, nodding fervently. "Thank you. That's all I really want, my lord. Thank you so much." Out of happiness, she embraced him. She embraced her goodfather that she had laughed and danced with on her wedding. There was so much she didn't know about him and she wouldn't have time to since he would leave South. Lord Stark returned her embrace, rather awkwardly, before she did him a favor and let him go.

No longer troubled by small matters that filled her head, she entrusted Ned Stark with the people she loved. He left her with a goodbye and she watched him walk down the hall. Going where? She didn't know. Lord Stark was probably handling any loose ends before Robb would take on the duty as Lord.

There was no reason for her to run to the kitchens since Ned Stark promised to send food for her to eat. So she made her way back to the room she shared with her husband, who she found pacing in the middle of their room. "Cassandra!"

Startled by his sudden raised voice, she wrung her hands as he quickly made his way over towards her. "You've been praying for hours! Nine to be exact."

He counted? _'I was there for nine hours?'_ She couldn't even believe it. He had to be wrong. There was no way that had been nine hours. It might've been right though, her legs were sore and she barely had any feeling in them when she first stood. She barely even felt them now.

"I'm sorry." Cassandra apologized, "I didn't mean to worry you or have you wait for me. I really intended for an all-night prayer."

The worry etched on his face soon began to fade. Cassandra was wary of the look on his face, she couldn't read it well. The corners of his mouth lifted before he took her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. A wave of heat washed over her face and she eyed him with her eyes wide open. "Thank you, Cassandra."

"You didn't have to kiss my hand to tell me thanks." Why did she say that? She cringed, inwardly, and wanted to take it back. How could she sweeten it? _'Say something nice, you stupid girl.'_ Her mouth just moved on its own accord, like it always did whenever she felt nervous. "He's my goodbrother, of course I'd pray for him. He's my family now, just as you are. Do you kiss your family every time they do something that they should?" Now she wanted to slap her palm to her forehead. Why was she so rude? _'What is wrong with me?!'_

Robb only laughed, leaving her feeling twice as embarrassed. For some reason, she was sure her husband thought her crazy. The things she said and did were so improper; so rude half the time. Why was she like this? He probably thought. Why is my wife so moody? He must've thought too. "You're my wife, can't I thank you with kisses? If you don't like it then just tell me so"

The heat doubled and she was sure her face was as red as her father's when he had too much to drink. She hated how pale her skin was because when she blushed, she truly did look so florid. And the way she blushed? She hated that more. It was the kind that crept up your neck and across your face, making you rosey entirely.

"It is not that I don't like it." The smile came out of its own, without warning, and without her thinking about it. "I'm just afraid you'll spoil me."

Intimacy was strange, she thought. The consummation was a must; what was to be done for all marriages in order for it to be sealed. She enjoyed it, however. She suspected to hate it and tried to be like her mother had told her to be during her wedding night: _"You must not be docile. Let him lead, serve his pride; pretend to desire him and you will have him at the palm of your hand."_ That was her advice during the feast of their wedding. Cassandra liked to think she lived up to that, but she had enjoyed it. She enjoyed the friction, the sweating, and the panting. She didn't have to pretend to desire him because she actually did.

Whether it was it because of Robb or the carnality was what troubled her. She did not love him. She never loved anyone that wasn't the familial love. So what was love between lovers like? That wasn't a silly teen's crush like she felt for the Dayne boy. Cassandra had no clue whatsoever. And before she could even observe it with Lord and Lady Stark, they would be separated for a time being until she stayed South along with him. She couldn't study it, she could understand it. Her parents didn't love each other, so she never saw it in its true form.

Robb didn't know he was married to a girl who did not understand the difference between desire and love. All she really had was Robb's words on his parents marriage as a study sheet. If only she knew how to be with him properly then she wouldn't be so shy or awkward when it came to silly things like kisses or affectionate words.

"I don't mind spoiling you." Cassandra couldn't think of a response. She was, essentially, speechless. _'Why is he like that?'_ She wondered, _'Why is he so… sweet?'_ Sweet might not have been the right term, but it was the only one she could think of. It was the only thing that sounded right with the constant pounding of her heart.

Unable to keep his stare, she looked down at her feet at a squabbling Grey Wind and Ryia. It wasn't an actual fight, just a play one. The two got along quite well, which seemed rather unusual. A direwolf and lion getting along? Who would've ever foreseen that? Robb followed her gaze and smiled at the two of them before holding out his hand to Ryia.

She looked at it and then up at him, probably wondering why he was taking the time to know her. Robb had been so wary of her before and now he seemed to want to know her better. Raising a paw, Ryia awkwardly swiped at his hand before resting it atop of his palm. Seeing him hold onto it and give it a shake, Cassandra chuckled at the confusion all over the Hrakkar's face.

Even Ryia was confused by him.

Grey Wind seemed fine until it went on longer than he liked, and then he pawed at their joined hands as a signal to let go. "Territorial, isn't he?" The once princess commented with her brow arched, "I hope you're not the same."

His laugh sounded nervous, giving her reason to not believe it. "Of course not." She didn't believe it for a second.

Cassandra scooped her lion into her arms, "He's a liar. Don't trust anything he says, Ryia." All she he heard was a purr, the lion too much enjoying her petting than worried about what she was saying. A knock came at the door and Robb went to open it. A servant with a tray of foods came in, "Lady Cassandra, Lord Stark says you wished to eat."

Nodding, she smiled as they began to put bowls and plates on the available table while Robb curiously looked down at what she was served. Her eyes remained glued to the small bowl of candied almonds out of everything else, "How did your father know I like candied almonds?"

"He didn't." Confused, she turned to look at him with her brows knitted. "I did. I asked for a bowl of them. I saw you eating them by the handful in the Great Hall. Your mother told you three times to stop eating all the almonds and then you snuck some more."

Now she wanted to hide, wondering how she missed him seeing her do that. Burying her face against the Hrakkar's side, she tried to think that if she wished it more than once she would disappear.

"You were watching me…" Why was he watching her? Why did he have to see that?

"It was our wedding." He said matter-of-factly, "Why wouldn't I watch my own bride?"

Pouting, she wished that she could curb her greed. It wasn't her fault that she liked food so much. Steffon was greedy too and so was little Tommen, that's why he was so chubby. They probably inherited from their father, eating so much like that. Fasting was hard for them and nearly impossible for her father.

"You weren't suppose to see that." She told him flatly, "You weren't suppose to see me so… _piggy_."

Guffawing, her expression turned sour as he did while she glared at the candied almonds with disdain. "There's nothing wrong with a girl that likes to eat." _'How encouraging,'_ she thought sarcastically. She immediately assumed that he was making fun of her. "I think its cute."

"Cute?" How was being greedy cute? He didn't worry that she would get plump? Her mother always said a woman too big was undesirable. A woman fleshy must have it in the right places. All her weight went to her thighs mostly. It was sword training that kept most of the weight she probably should've gained off.

"Yes, it's cute to me." He stood by what he said, seemingly not taking it back like she would've thought. She thought it to be some joke, but he was serious about it. The idea of him finding it cute, while peculiar, had made her happy. In a way, he was accepting of part of herself that her mother always hated. "The stew is going to get cold." He warned as she placed the lion down back its on its feet. "Ryia's probably hungry, isn't she? I'll feed her while you eat." With a curl of his fingers, he motioned for both lion and wolf to follow him, and they did.

Cassandra watch the animals scamper out of the room, following his trail to probably get themselves a good size piece of meat. He left her in their room, still stunned—overwhelmed, really.

"He thinks it's cute…" She spoke aloud, staring at the candied almonds as she picked up a spoon for her soup. Fighting not to smile, she stared at the healthy snack fondly as she gave her body the meal it deserved.

 ** _STEFFON_**

Today they would be leaving Winterfell to ride down Kingsroad and back home again. _'Home…'_ He thought acidly, _'A pit of chaos, incest, and lies is what it really is.'_ That place would never be the same to him again with him knowing the truth. He could barely stomach looking at his mother as well as his uncle. Now he would have to be forced with their presence on the way home. What was even worse that Uncle Tyrion wouldn't be there either to distract him. He would be journeying to the Wall for a short while before he returned to King's Landing.

Roughly two hundred people were preparing for departure and Steffon would have to sorrowfully part with his twin. He waited for her by his horse, watching her leave the castle with her eyes droopy and a yawn leaving her every time she blinked. _'An all-night prayer, Cassie? The gods can't help Bran. If they wanted to help Bran, they would punish mother and uncle. They are the ones who did that to him. They should've punished them sooner for their incest. I might just have to be the one to do it…'_ And yet another secret. As soon as he found out Bran had fell from the Broken Tower, he knew the boy had been undoubtedly pushed. If they were willing to kill Robin to keep Lady Arryn quiet then they had the gall to push a young boy from a tower to keep him quiet.

Just more reason for him to hate and even more reason for him to hate himself for keeping this all quiet. What kind of person was he now? A terrible person. He was truly terrible and the guilt wouldn't leave him. It would plague him all his life and he wasn't sure if he could handle such a thing haunting him for the rest of his life. How could he pretend to not know? To act as if nothing had happened. To act as if what happened to Bran was an "unfortunate accident".

His sister went to their father first, just like he knew she would. He smiled at the open sadness she shared with him, knowing that she'd miss him more than she would've expected. Their father lifted her in a bear hug, if it had been any tighter than he would've crushed her. All she could do was sob into his shoulder like a girl seeing their father off.

Then their mother waltzed over, cooing her with probably lies and false sweetness. Their mother had a way of making you feel one way so that her terrible intentions weren't so clear. Now that Steffon knew of her darkness, he couldn't trust her light. In fact, he just assumed she didn't have any. All of her was poisoned to him now.

Her goodbyes to their uncles soon took place and then to their baby brother and sister. She had to convince both Tommen and Myrcella to not cry. She talked to Myrcella the longest since Myrcella would one day know her share of parting with her family forever because of marriage. His baby sister would marry someone and go live with their family, saying goodbye to people she knew all her life to say hello to a life anew. Even though he knew this was the cycle of life, he didn't think knowing he would be losing both sisters would hurt this much.

Her goodbye to Joffrey, well, he hadn't expected for her to pull him into a hug. Joffrey looked around, wondering who was watching and probably fussing into her ear while trying to look like a good brother. Steffon sighed and shook his head, knowing very well that in his own way, Joffrey would miss her too.

Finally, Cassandra made her way to him, and he instantly went to hold her hands. Although she was smiling, she was already on the verge crying. "Don't give me that face." Pushing all his boiling hatred aside, he wouldn't part with his sister with so sour. This might be the last time in years he would see her again and he didn't want it ruined. Their mother and uncle wouldn't ruin this. He won't let them ruin anything else. "We'll see each other again… One day."

"I know." She told him softly, "It's just that… isn't it strange to know we won't be seeing each other every day anymore?"

Before they knew of days or time, Steffon and Cassandra had known each other in their mother's womb. _"You're born alone, you die alone."_ Did not apply to them. They came into this world together both in conception and birth. People born alone had never been as lucky as them to share the beginning of their very lives with someone else. Someone that was an extension of themselves. A chunk of him that was her would be missing now and he knew that it was going to be the same for her too.

"I don't see it strange." Trying to humor her, he rolled his eyes up to the sky and pretended to be nonchalant. "I don't have to worry about a certain sister of mine whining about sword lessons, meddling in my affairs, and following me around." He held in the snort when he watched her teary face turn into a heated glower. "Not to mention, I don't have to plot any murders because Myrcella knows better than to entertain those losers at court. I say life will be much more easier for me now."

That angry look faded almost immediately and she began to laugh, reminding him of her boisterous self. That helped him smile for the first time in the past day. His twin always gave him reason to when things seemed so bleak. Now she wouldn't be there to distract him, to light him, to keep him going down a path he was itching to take. This path that would make him everything he wasn't because injustice was all around him.

Her arms circled him, pulling him in a tight embrace by his surprise. He finally settled into it, winding his arms around her and rubbing her upper back in short strokes. Because he was taller by a foot and a few inches, his chin rested atop of her head as they held one another. 'Why _does she try so hard to be strong?'_ He wondered, hearing her trying to swallow any sound of a sob that trembled through her. She failed because she ended up wailing, wetting his doublet with her tears. Each snivel made her hold on him become tighter, and his smile never left but took a much sadder note instead. "I don't want you to leave, Steffon! Please don't leave…I want to go back home with you."

This was her sadness talking, she knew better. She knew she couldn't do that. Steffon also knew there was something there between his sister and Robb, whether it had been fully realized or in the beginning stages. Nevertheless, he was a good lad and he would take good care of her. "I don't think your husband would appreciate that." His eyes caught the sight of Robb standing there, watching their goodbyes with empathy. "Winterfell is your home now, Cass. Robb is your family too and he needs you here." He couldn't coddle her, not like he used to or not like he wanted to.

They were seven and ten, not even close to being children anymore. They were man and woman-grown, but even so… He still wanted to protect her kindness, that good that lived in her. _'Stay naïve, Cassie. You need to stay far, far away from the South. You musn't know these truths… You can't know them. I won't let you.'_ He kept that to himself, knowing that things were going to change. Now that he knew the truth, he certainly couldn't be the same person as he once was; this family-oriented prince, who had been so stupidly blind his entire life.

"You were so different yesterday that I worried for you." His throat tightened at her words, "Please don't change, Steffon. Don't become someone I don't know."

"There is not one person still alive that has never changed. All people must change, Cassie. No person stays the same." Prying them apart, he swiped away the tears at the corner of her eyes with his thumbs as she continued to sniffle. Her eyes were staring right up at him, looking up at him for hope. He didn't have any anymore and he hated himself for not being able to assure her completely with honesty. "But I promise you'll always know me and recognize me."

 _'Another lie… A another lie I have to tell to you.'_ Without a doubt in his mind, he knew things were going to change. He was going to enforce these changes too. Now that he knew the truth, he certainly couldn't be the same person as he once was; this family-oriented prince, who had been blind his entire life. Steffon had to play the part, but he chose justice than evil. He would punish those who have sinned for all these years and remained unscathed. Not one stone would be left unturned.

 **lll**

Like the rest of them, his horse was going a four-beat gait. The breeze was kind, not bitter as he expected to be. He noticed that some people picked up his quietness, which was to be expected since they knew how much parting with Cassandra would wound him. They had been kind enough to give him space and silence, even his father wore a worried look every now again. He expected for his father to tell him to deal with it, harshly enforcing that he pushed all of this aside. He said nothing though, surprising him.

Looking left, he saw Jon Snow, who rode his horse in silence. "You sure you want to take the black, Snow?" Steffon asked him, genuinely curious of the boy knew a single thing about the Wall and what it meant to be a Crow. He must've had no clue just how harsh life was and to be forced to sleep in the same rooms as criminals; killers, rapers, and petty thieves.

"I am." His nod was stiff, his face ever so stern. He was much too young to look so sullen, but then look at Ned Stark. Every once in a while a warm look would come across the Northern Warden's face but no so easily, not so quickly either.

"Send me ravens and tell me what it's like to be a Crow. I doubt I'll ever get the chance to see the Wall or Castle Black myself one day, but that doesn't mean I don't want to learn about it." It was just an excuse to make Jon keep in touch with him. They were friends, Steffon could say that much. Not as close as he had become with Robb or even to Theon, but good enough for their titles to allow.

His smile came quick, disappearing within a blink of an eye. "Why would a Crown Prince bother to learn about that? You'd be king, having all the riches and reputation a man could ever want."

If only he knew just how shallow his life was. How everything had been a sham. A Crown Prince of a drunk, fat, whoring, bloodthirsty king and a whoring, incestuous, lying, murderous mother. Murderous might've been too strong, whether if it was her or his uncle that pushed Bran was entirely unknown to him. But she did threaten the life of a child prior to that incident and she seemed to be ready to kill just about anyone, young or old, that seemed to be an obstacle to her. So murderous was thin-laced, not full truth, but it was something he'd keep in the back of his pocket in case she ever did show murderous ways.

"As my Uncle Tyrion said to me once: "A man is never filled with too much knowledge for a man must learn all his life. A man also must be worldly than he is wordy." At least, that's the half I can remember. My uncle talks… _a lot_." Jon chuckled as Steffon truly did forget the rest of that piece of advice. There was so much his uncle taught him that it was hardly possible for him to remember it all. He supposed that Jon and his uncle would get well-acquainted with one another since Tyrion would be taking a trip there as well. How long his uncle would stay? He didn't really know that much himself.

"I see nothing for me but the black." The prince could gather what he meant by that. The way you were born shaped your entire life, and being the bastard was the worse of the draw. Steffon had no idea how he struggled and so he had no right to assume that taking the black was an extreme. Whatever brought him peace was the right answer and he thought it long enough and stayed true on that path. "Do you see anything but the throne?"

"All before me is the throne." Even if Steffon didn't want it, he had to claim it. He was groomed to be king since birth and his father expected it of him. His father expected solely on him being king since he was born. There was also the fact that Steffon wouldn't dare allow Joffrey to be king with their mother whispering in his ears, influencing all that she desired. The realm did not deserve to be subjugated by two tyrants. The people deserved better.

They changed the subject to another matter, speaking about days of old. There was nothing better than to reflect on childhood memories. He learned that Jon had it rougher than he expected as far as Lady Stark was concerned. The woman bore him hatred just for being his father's bastard. Steffon suspected such a tumultuous relationship when she even tried to not allow him be at the wedding or at the feasts. He had to kindly ask her to let Jon join and she had seemed to unhappy to give into his request. To have dealt with that for seventeen years? Steffon could understand taking the black immediately.

Jon and his uncle soon separated from their group. And in a few days time, with rest in between, they had finally reached the Barrowlands. He kept his tent far from his mother and father's as they made camp, keeping himself close to Tommen and Myrcella's in case Tommen got himself nightmares and wanted to talk. It was usually Cassandra's job to read and cuddle Tommen back to sleep. It only made him more reliant on her, but he supposed it wasn't wrong to let him still be a child. He was only seven.

Silver laid by his feet as he took a seat in a chair by the small table, next to the firepit. Propping both hands behind his head, he leaned back on the chair legs with hit feet up, ankles crossed, on the table.

Before he could close his eyes, letting the quiet of the tent give him rest, he heard the flap of his tent be moved. Opening one eye, he saw it to be Arya Stark with her face all scrunched. "And what do I owe this visit, Lady Arya?"

"I'm not a lady." She quickly countered, "I'm bored and there's nothing to do."

Chuckling, he rose a brow. "We just made camp, Arya. What did you expect to do? Is this… Is this your way of asking me to entertain you?"

"That is… _If you can_." She was purposely challenging him, feeding him to give into her.

Seeing that there was nothing wrong with it, he dragged his feet off the table and seated himself right in the chair. "Alright, Arya Stark, I accept this challenge of yours. Have you ever played Cyvasse?"

"I… don't think so." Confused, her brows furrowed as she tried to really think back if she ever even heard of the word itself.

"Nevermind if you heard of it or not," Standing up from his chair, he searched in one of his chest for the board game before finding it and all its pieces. "I'm going to teach you a game of wit, little one."

"It's not my fault that I'm little." Rolling her eyes, she took a seat opposite of him. "I'll grow some, just you wait."

"I don't doubt that." Unfolding the game, he began to set up the many pieces. "Most girls don't grow tall. There are only but a lucky few, but I hear some men like their women of short stature."

Considering this, she rose one of her eyebrows. "And what do you like?"

"I like many things." She didn't like his mysterious. In fact, she seemed to loathe it. "Matters not if she be short or tall to me."

She liked that better. "So you're not picky?"

"Not at all."

"Even if she was fat?" Finding her curiosity quite adorable, he didn't mind if she kept on prying. It could've been because of the fact that he had siblings of his own that he didn't mind when a child asks so many questions.

"I still don't mind."

"If she was skinny?"

"Still don't mind."

"If she had a big head?"

"Still don't mind." He said for a third time as he raised his eyes to look at her grey ones that were staring at him. Steffon knew she was going to keep on going and smiled at the fact.

"Even if she was missing two front teeth?"

"Still don't mind."

"Even if she farts a lot? Like, all the time! They named her the Lady Break Wind because she farts so much." Steffon burst into a laughing fit, Arya too.

"Then I'll definitely make her Queen Break Wind." The young Stark hunched over, her arms wrapped around her middle as she laughed until she cried. The realm would lose their minds to have such a queen represent them. What would the rest of the world even think of them with their queen having such a reputation?

Smiling now, she looked down as he had set down the last tile piece. "So what is this about? What do you do?" Her eyes gazed back up at Steffon, who was looking down at the dragon piece.

"Cyvasse is a game that was made in Volantis. It isn't quite… well-known to most in Westeros, but I'm sure it'll catch on." In order to get her completely interested, he had to make the game seem special. He knew he caught her then, saying how rare the game was played in their lands, her mind truly fixed on it now. He was telling her truth, however, it wasn't really played that much in Westeros. In fact, he was sure most people never even heard of the name.

He placed the last thing the board game was missing, the screen in the middle. "This game is about strategy, making the mind strong. It's a war based on intellect." Arya rose a brow at this, still quite confused. "Because you never know just what your enemy might do, only leaving you to guess, you have to make sure that every move you make is important. On your side is your homeland and on my side is mine. The both of us have ten pieces of units and thirty-two pieces of tiles of our own."

"I know some of these units!" She told him excitedly, "That's a catapult, some spearmen, crossbowmen, and a dragon."

"All correct. The dragon is the most powerful piece of the game." He explained, "The reason why is because the dragon is able to do more than any of the tiles of the game, but even with its power… It can be stopped. A catapult can end a dragon, removing it from the board and so can a trebuchet."

"If the dragon is so strong then what is the objective? What does the person have to do to win the game?"

"You have to kill the King or at least capture him if you want to be merciful." Arya raised her brows then nodded, seemingly satisfied that her question had been answered so simply. It also could've been the fact that killing the king seemed to make the most sense in this sort of game.

With some further explanations of the limit of movements each tile can move and if a dragon can move over mountains or if trebuchet or catapult had to move in order to fire. He was starting to see that the girl was picking up to the game rather quickly, using quick thinking and wild guesses to leave him having to think much more carefully with his next choice. Arya's only problem was her impatience, which often got a tile taken from her and her getting frustrated in the process.

They played the game for several rounds, Arya managing to win once on her own and the other through some riddled hints from him. It almost reminded him of Cassandra, who had taken to the game as quickly as Arya did. His twin had always managed to move the king meticulously, knowing the king's limit as not just a piece but as a man. Most people used their dragons so willy-nilly, thinking because it was a fire-breathing beast that it was unstoppable. Steffon had always known since he first played that a king could outmaneuver a dragon if he was smart and forbearing. The king must know that he might lose some men and some land or even everything in order to win.

By their fifth game, he received some more company. His eyes lifted from his side of the board to see Ned Stark come walking in. The first thing the man did was look at his daughter. "Arya." He seemed shocked to see her here, her eyes were still trained to the board still as if she hadn't heard her father call her name. "I've been looking all over for you."

"My apologies, Lord Stark." He raised an uneasy hand, "I've taught your daughter the game of Cyvasse and she seems quite taken to it." Glancing back at Arya, he gave her a smile. "She beat me twice."

Smiling back at him, she then turned to her father and gave him a rather nervous, toothy grin. "Sorry I didn't tell you where I was going… I was bored when we made camp, so I came to Prince Steffon and he taught me how to play."

Relieved more than angry, he nodded and smiled at his youngest daughter. "Cyvasse? I've never heard of that before." Pulling up a seat, the Warden of the North looked down at their game with curiosity. He looked Steffon's side and then at Arya's, possibly noticing that neither one of their sides mirrored each others. "Why are both your sides so different? The rivers and the Mountains aren't in the same places."

"Because we are warring within our own homelands." quickly explained Arya, now thinking of herself as Cyvasse expert. "His land is different than mine, so I have to figure out the layout in which he sends his men and other things. He also has to do the same with mine."

Nodding understandingly, he watched them complete their last game with interest and patience. Steffon had made the last move with his ranged piece, using the catapult to kill Arya's king. "What? No way, that's not fair!" She shouted angrily, throwing her hands in the air before folding them after her fit.

"And that completes our fifth round. You've won two and I three." Amused by his daughter's frustration, Lord Stark placed a hand on her head to comfort her.

"This also means it is time for you to eat some dinner and prepare for bed." He gave her an expectant look, although warm, it wasn't one to be argued against.

Huffing, she nodded obediently before looking back at the Baratheon prince. "Thanks for teaching me how to play Cyvasse. We should play it again!"

"Any time you want." Pleased to hear that, she left the tent, leaving him alone with Lord Stark. Steffon turned his attention back towards the Warden, "Would you like to play?"

"Not today, my prince." His grey eyes looked over the board in thought before decidedly focusing on him. "There is something I wanted to discuss with you."

Unsure of the severity of the discussion, Steffon furrowed his brows and straightened up in his seat. "What troubles you, Lord Stark?"

"One of the servants saw you vomiting outside near the Broken Tower back in Winterfell. They were concerned as am I. Are you well, my prince?"

Steffon kept his expression schooled, not showing one bit of shock that someone told him of this. In fact, he managed to move his lips in a half smile. "I'm in good health, Lord Stark, if that is what really concerns you. I've simply ate too many mixed up things that day and it came back to haunt me after the hunt. I should've been wiser to think my stomach could hold eating all the foods I was far too eager to try."

He made sure to look him the eyes as he said this, knowing that any sort of aversion would make it all seem like a lie. It was hard though, looking into the grey eyes of the Lord Paramount of the North in order to say his lie was truth. It felt like Ned was looking for any sort of trace that anything he had said had been a fabrication, but he wouldn't find any. King's Landing made liars of men and women alike, and Steffon was no different. He could lie with a straight face, stronger than he ever could now then back then after discovering some horrid truths.

Nodding, accepting his words, Ned Stark shifted his focus away, back to the board rather absently. "I hate to admit it but I'm much piggy as my father is. Me, my twin, and Tommen all seemed to inherit that from him. My mother, Myrcella, and Joffrey picked up self control when it comes to food."

At least he had been truthful about _something_ , despite how irrelevant it was. The Northern man, however, seemed to grow sterner at the mention of his twin, "Your sister asked me to promise her that I take care of you." Now that shocked him, his eyes widening at that. "She says you put too much pressure on yourself. I know it must be hard for you and you might have no person to turn to when these expectations seem to overwhelm you, my prince, but you can be sure that you can come to me for help."

He was moved by the offer, still shocked that it had been given. His twin was the only person he could vent to seeing as it was their father that laid so many responsibilities on him. Their mother, before he knew of her corruption, didn't help because she thought that taking them away or lessening them would change things when all it did was annoy his father more. Cassandra would help and when she realized he didn't ask for help, she listened like he wanted. He didn't realize that he had nobody to talk to talk about things like that with anymore since trusting anyone with your worries often lead to it being said back to the ears of those you never wanted it to get to.

"I am grateful that you are offering yourself to help me, Lord Stark." He may have not known the man, but he knew he could trust him. If his father trusted Ned Stark this much and with the kind of reputation he had, he knew that he could too. "I will come to you when I need your advice. I didn't know my sister was still meddling with my life, even without her being around."

With a titter, Ned Stark nodded. "That's what family does, my prince. They help you, even when you didn't ask them to."

"Speaking of family," Steffon cleared his throat, "I couldn't help but overhear you and my father speaking of the Targaryens earlier."

There wasn't a look of surprise on his face like Steffon thought there were be. "So you heard that."

"Aye, I did." Nodding, he crossed his arms. "You cannot convince my father that the Targaryens deserve mercy. Just the mere mention of them makes him go mad, like his eyes start to storm and this heat comes off him. He gets so belligerent that you know that talking to him will either piss you off or wish you never spoke to him."

"You've spoken to him about the Targaryens before?" Did he? He spoke of them once and he swore his father breathed fire like a dragon himself.

He hated recalling that. It had made such a big argument that they hadn't spoken to each other in a solid month. "I did. I told him same things as you did that they are innocent and to just leave them be. What can they do? What army do they have? Even now that the girl has the Dothraki, they wouldn't dare cross the sea. Sometimes I think my father hopes they do so he can be at war again."

"You know your father well." Of course he did. Steffon had been looking up to him his entire life, but even he knew that there were certain things that he could not imitate. His whoring, his drinking, his greed, and his hate for the Targaryens. What the Mad King did was unforgivable and horrid, but the Targaryens were still part of the Baratheons. Without them, his father, his grandfather, his uncles, and himself and the rest of this family would not be here now. To make a whole family extinct? Steffon couldn't live with that guilt. He could scarcely drink these lies he made.

"I'm not going to tell you to kiss his hand and say he's right, Lord Stark." Staring absently at the Cyvasse, he set his jaw. "I'm saying that talking to him about them won't change his mind. Ever."

Ned nodded, still calm as he was when he dealt with his father. "I know that but I still believe I can."

"Stubborn man, aren't you?" The both of them smiled, "But I will help you with something."

"And what is that, my prince?"

Picking up the dragon tile east of the board, he stared at the black dragon carving. "I too do not want my Uncle Jaime to be Warden of the East. If there is any way I can aid you, whether it be task or persuasion, then just leave it to me."

 ** _CASSANDRA_**

A week and a day had come to pass since her family had left Winterfell. Bran, not once, did not wake from his death-like slumber. There were no changes, not a stir or even a twitch of his little hands. Since he slept, the wolves would howl through the night, making the castle seem so somber. Sometimes she could barely even sleep since the sound of their howls sounded like a sad song. Ryia would often stare out the window from her little bed, listening to them in silence. Even she had lost her playful spirit since they started their synchronized howling.

Lady Stark had not left the boy's side at all after since Cassandra last spoke to her in the Sept. She barely slept, just weaving a Prayer Wheel, still believing that the Seven would cure him of his sleeping state. They weren't able to cure his broken back and legs, so the only thing left to cure what his constant sleeping. Cassandra knew she couldn't help her to make one, that only mothers could do it for their children. Everything was depressing and what bothered her more was that there was nothing she do about it. Nothing she could change about Bran's sleeping or how her heart missed her family.

She didn't even want to wake up and leave bed. When her eyelids first flickered open, she stared away at absolutely nothing as the emptiness in her made her feel more sluggish. It was hard to adjust to the fact that an entire week had gone by since she last saw her family. Since they had left her to go back home. They couldn't have been back at King's Landing yet, most likely they were still traveling Kingsroad. Her mind immediately began to wonder how Steffon was doing and if Tommen slept easy for the nights. She hoped her mother wasn't nursing a cup of wine every five minutes due to being stuck on the road.

There were no women for her father to whore around with so he was probably eating and drinking more than usual. Finding everything humorous, especially now since he was reunited with his best friend. Hopefully Lord Stark could make him slow down his drinking and eating, but then she doubted that he could do that; friend or Hand.

Burrowing deeper into the heap of furs, she could feel Robb shifting in the bed beside her. For the past week, she usually woke up by herself because Robb had done his morning rituals, whatever they might be.

"Robb?" Wanting to distract herself, she figured that bothering her husband would rid her of her sad thoughts.

"Hm?" He hummed groggily, probably not fully awake himself. "Is something the matter?"

Rolling on her other side to face him, she watched as he had one eye open since he moved his arm by an inch to uncover one eye. Pursing her lips, she felt bad. Did she wake him? What if he wanted to sleep a little longer in the morning? Why did all her conversations with him never begin in her favor?

"I didn't mean to…" Bowing her brows to the bridge of her nose, she cursed at herself for not thinking. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"I was already awake." She thought him a liar as soon as he told her that. He didn't seem like he was all that awake to her. Robb was trying to be nice and to make her feel less guilty. She hated how nice he was. Well, she didn't hate it, but just wished she could be as nice… to him at least.

Not bothering to call him out on his lying, even though she wanted to, she sat up in the bed and saw the bowl of apples she had asked to be sent up yesterday for this morning. "Would you like to eat apples with me?"

His eyes went squint, probably astounded by the randomness of her request. "Apples?" She nodded in reply as she climbed out of the furs and crawled to the edge of the bed, grabbing at the tray and the knife. Resting the tray on the bed, right in-between them, she watched her husband lift himself up with curiosity as she began to cut them. "You could've asked the cook to peel and slice them for you."

"No," She wrinkled her nose, "I'm going to cut them special. I also wanted your advice on whether Rickon would like these."

She had gotten somewhat close to the youngest Stark during the week she lived here. Like she promised Lord Stark, she was going to take care of her goodbrothers and goodmother while he was away. She wanted to give Lady Stark her proper grieving time, a week's time at most. She told herself that after a week, she would try to do anything she could about forcing her to leave Bran's room and eating as well as sleeping well again.

While she tried to plan that, she took it upon herself to make sure that Rickon didn't feel abandoned. He was hesitant, at first, rather wanting to follow Robb around the castle with tears and wails. It was until she couldn't stand the sight of him so torn and confused that she decided to be his distraction. He took to her because she told him stories of foreign places that she learned about from books and her uncle. As long as she told him things unknown to him, it helped him want to get to know her because he liked to learn about new things.

By the time she was done cutting the apple, she had made them shaped like rabbits like a YiTish cook they once had in King's Landing had shown her. Robb picked up one, eyeing it with surprise. "A rabbit made out of an apple? For a girl that doesn't know how to stitch, I didn't think your talents would range in foods."

Frowning as his jab, she snatched it away from his hand and shoved it into his mouth. "If you're going to insult me then you can go back to sleep, my lord husband."

As he chewed the fruit, he laughed but was mindful that he could end up choking if he laughed too hard. At the sight him, the corner of her lips couldn't help but to twitch before they stayed upwards. "Do you think Rickon would like them? I want to teach him how to carve."

"So you can carve more than just food?" Actually interested and properly speaking with his food chewed and swallowed, she nodded again. "What else can you carve?"

"I can carve animals made of wood. I made a Stag once for my father and some wooden bowmen for Joffrey when he still played with toys." Back when Joffrey was easier to talk to, when he smiled more kindly and wasn't so cruel. "I could carve you a Direwolf if you'd like."

"I'll be looking forward to it." Biting down on her lip, she fought another hint of a smile that tried to show itself. "What made you decide to learn how to do that?" He asked, "Usually men carve, especially up here in the North."

Everything seemed to be a man's job as far as she heard. What was wrong with a woman carving? Did they think she couldn't handle a splinter or two? Sure, they hurt like hell, but the end result of what she made had always been worth the pain to her. "Since I wasn't good at stitching and women aren't allowed to learn a weapon…" _'Even though I did learn a sword…'_ She thought to herself, _'But he doesn't need to know that.'_ "I took up carving."

Robb looked to her, strangely, she thought. "Why not an instrument or singing?" Normal lady things was what he was trying to say. Carving did seem like a big leap, but she rather liked it.

"It was the only way that they would let me hold something sharp." She admitted truthfully, seeing him smile at that.

"I knew there was a catch." How did he figure that was what really bothered her. He was starting to catch on to her now and she wasn't sure if she enjoyed knowing that. "I have a feeling that you always wanted to learn to use a sword."

 _'I do know, my kind husband.'_ How would he feel if he knew? Would he think her mannish? Would she lose all her feminine charm to him? Most men like a woman they could protect, so if he was one of those kinds of men then how would he feel that she knew how to hold her own? The idea that he wouldn't like her anymore because of that made her scared for some reason. "I did, but I know better than to think my father would let me even stare at a sword for too long, let alone touch one."

"If you want, I could teach you." Stunned, she stopped in the middle her carving, the juices of the apple sticking to her fingers as the peel dangled in the air. "There are many ladies that know a sword. For instance, Lady Maege of House Mormont is a fine warrior. She can out fight just about any man. Her daughter can too last I known."

 _'_ _…_ _What is wrong with him?'_ Cassandra thought, _'How is he… Why does he… Why is he so perfect?'_ Robb Stark might've been perfect, but he was still a complete enigma. She couldn't wrap her mind around him and it was driving her mad. She hoped to find something horrible about him to wash this clean image she had and saw of him, but no. He just made himself more likable and more… desirable.

"N-No!" She stuttered, shaking her head to rid herself of any sort of sexual attraction she was starting to feel for her husband. Focusing hard on the task at hand, she tried to school her expression. "I'm fine with just a knife. Really, I mean it."

His eyes didn't leave her face, probably calculating just what the hell had her so riled. He sooner shrugged and picked up another apple slice, taking a bite instead of eating it all in one go like she forced him to do the other.

It was getting harder to concentrate, her heart was beating much too fast and much too loud. She was almost afraid that he was going to hear it until their door flew open.

"Cassie! Cassie!"

Rickon had come to save her, she sighed in relief at the sight of his beaming face. "Good morning, Rickon." Smiling, she watched as he climbed atop of the bed and looked down at the apples.

"What's that?" He pointed at them, picking them up for closer inspection. "Its an apple! Shaped like a rabbit?"

"Mhm, I was just showing Robb. I was asking him if you would like them and would like to learn how to carve."

His eyes quickly looked up to hers, "Really?"

"Yes, but that's only after you've done all your lessons with the Maester for the day." Wrinkling her nose at him, he did the same as he took a bite out of one of the apple slices. She could tell just by the way the apples smelled and looked that they were sweet. Fruit had been such a big part of meals back at her home that she could recognize just from the weight and appearance if they were sweet or ripe.

Robb, genuinely surprised by everything, leaned towards them. "Since when did you and the princess get so close?"

Rickon turned to look at her, his eyes asking if he should be the one to explain. She nodded and he looked back to his eldest brother, "Well… when I was going to ask you if you'll let me go with you 'round the castle, she told me that she'll do it with me so that you can do your duties. So, she told me a story about her great-great grandmother Rhaelle Targaryen and some other stuff I never knew."

Shocked, his head whipped to look at her. Most people tended forget the Targaryen ancestry in the Baratheon line. It was because none of them were born with the silver-blond hair or the purple eyes. All of them were dark-haired and usually blue-eyed, save for her and her younger siblings."Your great-great grandmother was a Targaryen?"

"Aye," She answered, "she married the son of the man that caused a rebellion and then her own grandson starts one too. Curious, isn't it?"

"It must be in the Baratheon blood to rebel." Robb suddenly said making her look at him as if to say 'what is that supposed to mean'.

"Rickon?" She slid her eyes to look at the younger boy, who was chewing another apple slice.

"Yes?" He answered her, mouth full.

"If I told you to hit your brother for me, would you?

"Hey!"

Mouth agape in shock, Rickon looked at Robb from the corner of his eyes and then back at her. "What would I get if I do?"

"Rickon!"

Holding in her laugh, she tried to summon her most charming smile. "Anything you want."

" _Anything_?"

" _Anything._ " She repeated with emphasis. Showing how true she would be to her word, she even held out her pinky. "I'll even swear an oath to you if you want."

"Alright!" Performing a pinky-swear with her with his own, she watched as he curled his hand in a loose fist just to punch Robb in the arm so lightly. In false anger, he picked his little brother up and swung him over his shoulder.

"You choose her over me?" He said in mock hurt.

"She promised me anything I wanted. Who can say no to that?"

Watching Robb tickle his brother as punishment and Rickon giggles fill the air, Cassandra watched the two of them with glee. If this was what a future looked like with a child and Robb as her husband then maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Perhaps, she might even look forward to that day.

 _ **STEFFON**_

Another hunt, he heard. It was one he will not attend either after the many that he skipped. He decided to spend his time in his room in the inn until he be forced to leave it. All he wanted to do was plot and think, hoping to exact his vengeance with enough stir to get rid of all this anger. It kept looming, spiking when he thought of all the times he had let such obvious things go unseen by him. Countless of times where things were right in front of him and he had paid them no mind. There was also the fact that Lord Stark seemed surprised that he wanted to stop his uncle of being Warden of the East. He lamely reasoned to him that it wouldn't be right for a Lannister to hold the East and the West, family or no. Ned Stark agreed to that and seemed to believe him because he thought the same. He hadn't known the underlying intention Steffon had of destroying his uncle in some way or another.

"Your mane is growing in finely, Silver." He told his Hrakkar, combing his fingers through the sprouting mane that was becoming quite distinctive. Silver purred under his pets, becoming much more pampered then he should've been. It seemed the lion was more attached of him as of late, possibly because he had been separated from his sister."You miss Ryia don't you?" The lion nudged its hand in his open palm, "I miss her too."

Though they were at the Trident, where his father had fought and killed Rhaegar Targaryen at the Ruby Ford, he hadn't seemed to care all that much. As a boy, he would've been excited and demanded his father to show him exactly where the fight happen and make the two reenact it. Him, now as a man of seven and teen, held nothing. No excitement or care. A few knocks came at his door, puzzling him as to who would come to visit him now. "Enter." He told them with authority and the door to his rented room had suddenly opened, making him peer over his shoulder. A smile grew as Silver jumped down so he could get himself to his feet, "Ser Barristan!"

"My prince, it is good to see you." Barristan the Bold had knelt before him as he stood, making his smile remain. "The council has come to escort the party the rest of the way."

"How kind." Moving to close the door, "I mean to ask how you are and how was King's Landing was while we were gone, but there is an important matter I wish to speak with you about." Stepping into the hall, he looked both ways to check if it was empty. Seeing that it was, he shut the door close and motioned for the knight to sit.

"What troubles you, Prince Steffon? I hardly ever see you so vigilant." Boy, if he knew what he had to apprise him, he would've understood. Yet he couldn't tell him everything, not just yet. There were moves to be made before he take it that far.

"Have you heard anything of my Uncle Stannis?" He questioned, taking a seat back in the chair he was once in before the knight came in.

"No I haven't." Steffon suspected such, "Ever since he left in such a hurry, I have neither seen, heard nor spoken to him."

Nodding, he then interlocked his hands, making a bridge. "I need you to send him a raven for me."

"A raven? A raven for what?" Closing his eyes briefly, he wondered what he was about to do was a little risky. It was worth the try though.

"I've written him a letter and I want it sent in secret." explained the Baratheon prince, "I don't trust anyone else with this task but you, Ser Barristan."

The Knight looked at him with confusion and curiosity, wondering just what was so important in this letter that it must be kept secret. "If you don't mind me asking of its contents…"

Steffon was willing to indulge him, mainly because Ser Barristan was one of the few men he trusted, even with his life. Another major reason was because he was not under his mother's thumb like Ser Blount and Ser Trant, he was more loyal to his father and to him if anything. Lastly, he was the also one of the many men to teach him the sword. Why else would he not have trust in him? "I want him to tell me what he and Lord Arryn discovered and what they searching for before Lord Arryn's _untimely_ death. I want him to know that I know half the secret. I also want to inform him that I plan to do something about it."

It probably sounded like riddles to the knight, "I see. This secret cannot be shared of me until a later date, I imagine."

"For the well-being of both you and I, Ser Barristan, that is for the best." Making the chair screeched against the wooden floor when he stood, he walked himself over to the desk that had the written letter folded and ready to be sent. Picking it up, he hadn't realized that this letter could give him information he might further hate to discover. The contents were heavy despite the paper being so light.

Handing it over to Selmy, the man tucked it away safely on his person. He did not scavenge it because he believed him, he trusted his word. The was more than he enough to cement that this had been a wise decision on his part. "I will fulfill this task for you, my prince. But I worry, secrets and discoveries afoot only mean that trouble will arise."

"It has already been arising, Ser Barristan." Folding his arms, he grounded his teeth. "If left to fester then this whole kingdom will be nothing but pure chaos."

"I do believe that you only care about the kingdom, my prince. Out of you, your parents and your little brother, I know that you care for your people." He smiled as Barristan didn't mention his twin in that list, knowing that she was dutiful to her realm. She just happened to put her family on a higher tier, which was now a fool's choice. "The people think kindly of you and if what you're doing helps them then I can only assume they'll love you more in exchange your courage."

"You flatter me, Ser Barristan. Whether people love me or hate me matters not to me. Sometimes good deeds become misunderstood and bad ones bring good results. Whether what I have to become to achieve this rightness I desire, I want it all well worth it. I want to live or die having this peace in my heart."

Nodding, the golden-armored knight looked at him with what Steffon felt to be pride. "I will go and get this letter sent."

"Thank you, Ser Barristan." With a nod, the knight bowed again before he walked towards the door. "Wait, is my Uncle Renly here?"

"He is, I forgot to mention. Let us go together then." Steffon had snapped his fingers, beckoning the lion to follow him. Silver scampered right behind him as he walked beside Selmy, hearing how King's Landing was fairing while he was gone.

There was nothing much to report, mostly gossips upon the lips of the rich and the poor as per usual. By the time they reached outside and even made it to see the council, he caught Sansa practically trembling before the sight of what he assumed the Hound. Just seeing the man's burnt face so close was enough to scare anyone, especially girl as proper and fragile as Sansa Stark. He split with Ser Barristan, hearing Sandor's, "Do I frighten you so much?" As he closed the distance.

"Leave her be, Clegane." Steffon warned him, watching Lady come in between Sandor and Sansa to protect her. The Crown Prince took gently to Sansa's arm, pulling her to his side so that he could protectively turn to stand in front of her.

"Prince Steffon!" She sounded alarmed, but also relieved at the sight of him. She also kept herself right behind him, looking at Clegane ( at least that's what he assumed ) from the side since Steffon was too tall for her to peer at the Hound from over his shoulder.

"Do you really get off on frightening young girls?" Hitching a brow, he folded his arms. "I don't think Joff would much appreciate you giving his betrothed a fright."

Steffon did enjoy Sandor… To some degree. He got the man's anger and his strange sense of humor, but he knew Sansa wouldn't. Sandor wasn't at all angered by his interference, just amused by it. "My apologies," He sounded rather sarcastic, " _my prince._ "

"Oh, I do believe you're quite sorry, Clegane." He countered right back, a half a smile on his lips. Joffrey made his way over, obviously irked by the sight of what was happening.

Proffering his hand to his soon-to-be wife, he spoke to her with calm and kindness. Something that was an act, entirely unlike him. "What is it, sweet lady? Why are you afraid? No one will hurt you. Steffon and I would make sure." Now he was using him for his heroic façade. The eldest Baratheon fought not to roll his eyes, but the Hound tittered, knowing very well how Joffrey really was. "You, dog, away with you, you're scaring my betrothed."

About to be faithful, Steffon raised his hand to stop the Hound from leaving. By the look on Sansa's face there must've been more to it. She hadn't at all seemed frightened at him as he thought. "It was not him, my sweet prince and Prince Steffon." Surprised, he turned to look at her. "It was the other one."

"Payne?" Renly said, walking over, obviously watching all of this unfold.

"Ofttimes Ser Ilyn frightens me as well, sweet lady. He has a fearsome aspect." Ser Barristan added.

Steffon snorted, amused that Sansa wasn't afraid of a man with half his face burnt but of Ser Ilyn Payne, a very strange mute who made just about everyone uncomfortable.

His mother was making his way and Steffon didn't want to bother to even hear her speak. So he motioned for the Hound to come talk to him, saving his conversation for his Uncle Renly for later. "Steffon, not wishing to say a hello to your own uncle?" Renly called out to him, making everyone surrounding them look.

Giving him a trained smile, he replied, "I just have a few words to speak with Clegane here. I hope you don't mind waiting for a proper hello."

Nodding, both Steffon and Clegane were given some space away from the group. His mother watched him with suspicion and even worry. "I don't know how you do it, Clegane. Letting my brother call you dog and order you to do the most mundane things… I'll never understand.

"I don't know how I do it either, but I do it." Sandor turned to look at him, "If I had been given the chance to have served you, my prince. I would've taken it."

"If you would've served me, you would've been a Hound no more. The only beast I have is Silver." Silver growled at that, making him laugh. He must've not like being called a beast himself.

"That kindness of yours is like poison." Sandor told him, calm and honestly. Serious by all means. "It'll kill you slow and make your pearly bones black. People will wonder what made such white bones black with death, and they'll figure it was because you're too kind."

 _'Depressing…'_ He immediately thought despite understanding the point. Steffon was too kind, more than he liked and more than he should be. That was going to change though, but nobody was to know that.

"The world is cruel, Sandor, I know. Many cruel people occupy it, but I have learned that even monsters can possess a beautiful side to them as well. There's good in you, I know. Until the day that good is exhausted, I'll still have some smidgen of faith in you."

"I wouldn't call it beautiful." The both of them laughed, Steffon taking his gourd filled with water and erasing his thirst with a swig. "Water? Why not wine?"

"Unlike you or my father, I don't have to be bloody drunk to make it through the day." Sandor scoffed at that, probably having reason to believe that wine could make anything bearable, even a slow day.

The two of them had watched as Sansa and Joffrey soon broke away from the group of knights and his mother, but what made him angry was that the Hound had not followed. "You're not letting them go off by themselves, are you? You are supposed to follow my brother."

"He shoo'd me. Why the fuck would I go chasing after him?" He had a point, but it was dangerous for the two to go walking off together. It was also a breach of propriety to let the two be alone together. He didn't want the girl whispered about and he didn't trust Joffrey to protect her reputation or her life. You would've thought Sansa was his little sister by the way he got himself so worried. "If you're so damn concerned then why don't _you_ go and stop them?"

Glaring at the Hound, he knew that Sandor was not going to budge. Rubbing his temples, he had half a mind to not care but the idea of them two alone did not sit well with him. Nothing dealing with Joffrey and alone another human, especially a girl, sat well with him. He should've gone to speak to Renly, but he couldn't let this matter go.

Since his mind couldn't let him be at ease, he did it. He felt like a parent hunting down his child to make sure no mischief or misconduct transpired and he hated every minute of it. By the time he found them, he managed to arrive on time to see his brother, sword out and threatening Mycah. "Arya, you stay out of this." Her own sister told her.

"I won't hurt him _…much_ ," Why must this boy be his little brother? And right as he broke into a run, Arya was already swinging the stick in her hand and giving Joffrey the beating he deserved. One blow to the back of the head wasn't enough, so she gave him more.

"No, no, stop it, stop it, both of you, you're spoiling it!" Sansa screamed. "Stop it, don't, stop it!"

Unsheathing Blacktail, he slammed Joffrey's sword down that he had aimed at the younger Stark, making the whole group of them gasp at the sight of him. "You dare raise your sword at a little girl?!" He hollered at Joffrey, hot with anger. Joffrey was really no better than their mother and uncle to him now. Lannisters had an affinity of killing and hurting children didn't they? His grandfather with the Targaryen children, his uncle and mother with Robert Arryn and now Brandon Stark, and now his little brother with another Stark.

Stunned by his arrival, angered by the blood that leaked from the back of his head, Joffrey went on a well expected rant. He wouldn't be Joffrey if he didn't, Steffon reasoned. "She hit me! She hit me with that dirty stick and I bleed, don't you see it?! But you care for this little bitch?! I'm your _brother_!"

Sansa gasped at the obscenity, her eyes wide as Steffon narrowed his eyes so thin that they looked like Silver's cat eyes. In but a second, the crack of skin on skin had echoed through the area; meeting everyone's ears, even louder in Steffon's own. With just one fluid motion, he brought the back of his hand across his younger brother's face, slapping him roughly for his obvious wrong-doing.

Joffrey's head was facing to the side, where Steffon's blow had thrown it. Tears came bursting from his eyes and down his face silently, when they hit where he had struck him, it stung him. He knew because his little brother flinched when it happened.

Arya ran over to the eldest prince, clutching his leg in obvious fear and trying to control her own emotions. "How could _you_ do that?!" Sansa cried for Joffrey, like he expected. Let him be the villain to her, he could accept that, but he could not accept no kin of his harming children and getting away with it.

The look his brother gave him was fierce, a silent scream of pure rage in his eyes. "How could you? For this Stark—" Steffon aimed to raise his hand again with intent, daring him to curse at the girl again. Joffrey flinched much harder at the prospect of his father slapping him for another time. "I'm telling mother!"

"Please, Prince Steffon! Not again, please don't hit him again!" If it weren't for her pleading, he might've done it. But he didn't and Arya let him go, but not for reasons that he expected, but to throw Joffrey's sword using her whole body into the river.

"Arya, go." Steffon told her and she looked at him, her eyes asking him 'what about you?'. He smiled at her and then inclined his head and she and her friend Mycah went running with Nymeria behind them.

His eyes looked down at his brother, who kept touching his stinging cheek that was bound to swell. "My poor prince…" Sansa told him, being tender for a boy that hadn't deserved it. He wondered just what would've happened if he didn't get involved. Would Joffrey had hurt Arya? He expected so.

Even Sansa's kindness couldn't cure him, he was angry with her too. "Don't touch me!" How could he speak to her, the girl who cried for him and tried to help him, with contempt? There was nothing good in him, Steffon had to fully realized that. He kept hoping that there was but there was nothing. Not a trace.

"Clean your face and make your way back." He kept his voice stern, Joffrey flinching even at that. The sight of his brother afraid of him didn't make him feel good, but it hadn't made him feel bad either. "Go on now and take Lady Sansa with you. Tell our queen mother what happened here as you promised."

Cersei was going to be up in arms about this and Steffon couldn't help but feel delighted about it.

* * *

 **A/N : **When you suddenly realize the major contrast of how things are getting really serious in Steffon's POV and things are nice and sweet in Cassie's. Don't worry though, I'm giving Cassie good times because its not going to last. I'm terrible for even saying that.

I saved Lady and Nymeria doesn't get chased off. I wanted to be different.


	7. Chapter Six: You've Only Met The Rain

**Author's Note** : Woo! A new chapter is here.

Loves to read books: Thank you! That chapter was fun to write. Just having a character explore a new feeling or territory is fun.

magicdownunder: Haha, you might not always be. Steffon is going to be very sporadic; he'll make good decisions and then really reckless ones. I think its impossible for him to always be right and always be good in this situation. He's going to have so many phases. After all, he's Robert and Cersei's son; two reckless people. Every right move they make, the wrong one quickly follows.

pawelp: Thank you! I'm glad you like Cassandra. I can't say anything about that without giving anything away, but the story will eventually follow canon but the canon process will take longer. That's all I can say. For a brief time, it will be AU until it follows the canon path.

darkwolf76: That was a one time thing! I swear, I keep saying that but then I suddenly get a random spike of inspiration. I watch movies or I constantly think about the story and jot down ideas. It helps because I tend to get carried away with things. Lol. Sometimes I feel like the realism is going to make it too slow, but I think it should be a slow process for someone who hasn't wanted to be with anyone before. Thank you though! I gush at your praises.

I'm happy everyone feels that way about him. I can't wait to get started on that! The ideas I have and already written are endless.

amrawo: Thank you! I see you're enjoying two of my stories!

Guest: I'm sorry if I gave you that impression, the story hasn't gone as far or in that direction to implicate that. I'm not following that kind of route, not at all. I can't say anything without giving anything away, so sorry if that's what you think of it.

TwoWayMirror: That might come back to bite though. I'm sorry! At least I gave a warning! I'm glad you're enjoying it and hope you still do.

* * *

 ** _CERSEI_**

Punishing her children was something she never enjoyed doing. She was not like those mothers that could discipline her children without the harshest of tugs of her heartstrings. It already proved difficult in itself just to raise her voice at them, but what her eldest boy had done? That could _not_ be disregarded. With a swift motion of her hand, she gave her son a slap. That had to be done before she would admonish him properly, explain to what he did wrong and then here his side of things before an apology. However, she sooner discovered something was more certainly peculiar.

Something about her Steffon was different.

When she had struck him, his head had been thrown to the side from the force of the blow, but something had flashed clear across his eyes and if she would've blinked at that instant she would've missed it. For a short second, she saw his cerulean eyes look as if they were burning. How does eyes reminiscent of the Summer Sea do something like that? In those eyes she known for seventeen years was something akin to fire; the intensity of them sent a sudden chill down her spine in spite of their heat.

He hadn't touched his reddened cheek,nor even wince at the obvious sting. It was red, bound to swell, but he merely stood with his jaw set and his eyes staring at her rather blankly now. The look of him was like he was but a hollow vessel, made to stay there and endure her presence when he would rather be somewhere else. Her sweet boy never once gazed at her like this, without note of emotion or angrily. When she would punish him, rarely if she ever, he had always understood the reasons and asked for forgiveness. But he was silent to her now as well as stony and gelid. It worried her… It scared her.

"Are we finished, mother?"

If Cersei never mastered the art of controlling herself, she would've gasped. Her eyes, however, did in fact widen at this sudden nonchalance because the shock in her was too strong to tame. For a split second, she saw an image of Jaime standing in the place of her son. Jaime would've done that. He would've acted as if her justified anger and her strikes did nothing to him. He would've joked at it, laughed at it, pissing her off even more since he never took anything so serious. All Steffon did was take on a rather bored look, totally disrespecting her and acting as if her punishment had meant absolutely nothing to him.

"Excuse me?" She manage to say in her shock, "How dare you speak to me, _your mother_ , this way?"

His eyes were looking past her as if she wasn't even there. As if she was some kind of silhouette that haunted the room unbeknownst to him. Her eyes became hard as stone at this, seeing as he was willfully doing this. There had to been a reason of why he was acting this way and he wasn't going to bother to tell her. She knew that for sure. "Father is waiting for us and so are the others. I don't believe we should be wasting our time for a conversation I'll just have to repeat again."

"What has gotten into you? You've never—"

" _I've never._ " Life came back to his eyes, something facetious in the midst of them. The sudden spring of life in them was so strange after witnessing just three sorts of faces and looks he never seen from him before. It was liked she shifted to different people, none of them familiar to her. None of them like the boy she knew. "Funny, I've never liked to think a lot of things would happen and yet they did. I suppose people change, don't they, sweet mother of mine? Not change per se, but their trueselves are made to be revealed. I never would've struck Joffrey before today yet I also never imagined he would point his sword at a little girl."

Her dark brows knitted together as her son tilted his head, like he waiting to see if she would reply or even react to his strange words. What was this? What was this interrogation and this condescending attitude? Her boy looked like a stranger and she loathed it. Cersei loathed that she could not recognize her son. Her first boy, her golden Stag.

Perhaps it was her own fault for not quickly acting on the sudden changes in his behavior since they left Winterfell. Steffon had ignored her in several different ways: choosing silence when she spoke to him, moving away from her touch like she had a sickness or ignoring servants that she sent to retrieve him for her. Every which way, he had managed to avoid her in these past eight days and Cersei had no clue as to why.

It wounded her. It wounded her to know her son hated her. What could she have done to bore this hatred in him? Then it suddenly came to her, this reason that sprang to her mind. Almost instantly, Cersei figured this was his way of dealing with being separated from his twin. Of course, her son was having sudden changes in mood and possibly the sight of her and Jaime speaking with one another had made him think of Cassandra. He had a hard time coping without the sight of her, without her being constantly around. It was such a huge change. She missed her daughter too and oft thought about her before she ate or went to sleep. The queen knew she must help her son through this difficult time. She was the only one that could, being a twin herself, and suffering through the agony of times she was separated from Jaime herself.

This was truly the painted example of why it was unnatural to separate twins; two halves of a whole being forced apart. Her son was changing for the worst. Cersei forcefully pulled him close and like she expected, he did not return her embrace. It was difficult embracing him, he had his father's height; six feet and six inches exact, but Robert seemed less tall now since he gotten himself so fat. Her son looked completely like a golden-haired Robert; the Robert she adored when she first laid eyes on him and felt giddy as ever to marry. In a few moments, she had to gather herself that he was her son and not her drunkard husband with different hair coloring. Not the beast of a Stag she came to despise with all her being today.

Her head only could lay against the lower half of his chest, hearing the steady beating of his heart as she did. "I know being apart from Cassandra is hurting you, my sweet boy. I miss her too and it has only been a week and a day, but you musn't take this anger out on your family. You need us now than you ever needed us before."

Cersei frowned sadly as she had felt no movement, not even an attempt. It was a one-sided hug, possibly a one-sided conversation as well. She gave and he returned her with such a cold personality. He was more cold than that cold and grey wasteland that called itself the North. "We should leave now. Father will grow frustrated if left to wait."

 _ **CASSANDRA**_

The vast and expansive sky had turned into a jet-black hue, stars illuminating in the darkness that would make anyone want to take a walk outside to admire them. Unfortunately Cassandra chose not to, she was not at all comfortable of wandering the cold North at night just yet. One day, she would walk around Winterfell during the moon's reign, when she felt a little braver about it or when she remembered the places more clearly. She still sometimes found herself lost now and then, she even gone in circles most of the time. Winterfell was larger than the Red Keep and she hadn't known Winterfell for all her life. It wasn't an easy adjustment, it would take time.

After seeing Rickon off to bed with stories, she decided to venture to the library tower with Josselyn at her side. Josselyn fussed about going with her since it had been a while since the two got to talk with just the two of them. If it wasn't Millicent or another handmaiden or lady-in-waiting stealing her attention then it was Rickon, and then it was Robb trying to spend time together again, which she purposely avoided. Every time she and Robb spent time alone, it only made her feel strange, even if she liked the foreign feelings she felt.

"How do you like the married life?" Josselyn finally asked, who had kindly avoided talking about her husband since the wedding until now. Her best friend and handmaiden had known all about Cassandra's mixed emotions about this marriage, Robb, and being separated from her family. So she tried to go at a slower pace in order to not frustrate her.

"It is nice." She admitted a half truth, "Did I tell you Robb saw me stuffing my face on our wedding feast? He knows I liked candied almonds because of it."

Josselyn snorted, clamping her hand over her mouth to withhold her laugh. Cassandra slew her green eyes towards her friend, annoyed that she found it funny. It wasn't funny. It was embarrassing. Regaining composure, Josselyn cleared her throat and tried to keep her face neutral. "Well, at least he knows what you like? That's a good thing. Now you should learn what _he_ likes."

"And why should I do that?" Genuinely curious, studied the rather blank look Josselyn bestowed her. She was looking at her as if she heard the most dumbest question in existence. "What? What I mean is… I didn't _ask_ for him to give me candied almonds and he shouldn't have seen me stuffing my face. Why should _I_ bother knowing what he likes?"

"For one, he is your husband, Cassandra. The two of you should know what each other's likes, whether it be colors or what pleases each other most in bed." The former princess still didn't quite understand why should she care about the former, but the latter made her uneasy. The latter her mother would've encouraged. "Secondly, Robb obviously cares about your interests, even the most minimal of things like what snack you like. Aren't you curious to know what he likes to eat? What makes him happy? What makes him sad?"

It started to come together, what Josselyn had meant that is. Cassandra realized how selfish she sounded about not caring what he liked, she should care, and already did in some ways. What color did he like? She asked herself. Was it the Stark grey? Maybe blue? Most boys like blue, she thought. Perhaps a shocking color like purple or yellow? What makes him happy? Her mind started to conjure up the smile he gave her during their wedding day and then again back to the day when he kissed her knuckles. What could she do to make him smile at her like that again?

"I am… curious." She told her rather bashfully, wringing her hands together as she felt silly for confirming such a thing. "Robb keeps trying to close the wall between us, but I think I like to make it taller."

"Any taller and they'll have to build another Castle Black." The blonde-haired handmaiden ceased her walking, making Cassandra turn to look back at her. "Cassie, are you afraid to fall in love with him?"

Afraid? No, she didn't think she was afraid. It was more like she didn't know _how_ to fall in love with someone. "It is not that I fear it, I'm not sure if I can because I never have before."

"Tell me, when you fawned all over Gerold Dayne when you were younger, didn't you dream up silly things like marrying him or even kissing him?" Thinking back on it, she didn't go as far as to think of marrying him, neither did she think of kissing him either. She just thought he was the most beautiful person she had ever seen. She just couldn't believe that such a person existed and he made her feel warm and fuzzy whenever she looked at him, but marriage and kissing? No, she hadn't thought of that. She never thought of marriage, she even told Robb of that.

Cassandra shook her head in reply, leaving Josselyn to sigh in near defeat. "Alright, tell me how it is you feel when you're around Robb?"

"I feel nervous most of all." She began, listing things from the top of her head. "I feel jealousy, I feel hatred, I feel happy…"

Blinking a few times, bewildered, her friend had not the slightest clue as to why she would feel two of those things towards him. "Hatred? Jealousy? W-Why would you feel that?"

"Because he's perfect!" Cassandra answered quickly, almost too fiercely. She had to calm herself, knowing that if she said it any harsher than she would seem like she was screaming. "He's too nice, he's too handsome, and do you see how everyone in Winterfell treats him? They treat him like he is gold or something… It unnerves me. _He_ unnerves me."

Josselyn snapped her fingers, a grin coming across her face. "I know now. When you fancied Gerold Dayne, you were smitten with him because of his sightly perfection. You're afraid of meeting someone like him because you're afraid they are not going to stay that perfection you see them as. You're afraid because you fear Robb has a different side of him, a side you won't like just like Gerold Dayne."

Her eyes widened at the realization. It had all made perfect sense. Perhaps it didn't start with her disappointment with Gerold Dayne, but her mother's constant advice of staying cautious. The story of how her mother fell in and quickly out of love with her father, who she thought was so perfect at first sight and he truly wasn't. Then she was forced to endure a loveless and joyless marriage. Her mother truly stunted her of loving men.

Figuring this out, what could it mean? Did it mean she could push aside these fears of hers so that she could fall in love with her husband properly? Did it mean she could fall in love if she swallowed all the negativity that came surfacing? What if she was ruined? _Damaged._ What if she couldn't be repaired? What was she to do? Her mind was racing and if she thought any harder, she was bound to get a headache.

"Enough of this." Cassandra waved her hand dismissively, "I don't want to think any more about this." She just wanted to relax and read. She didn't want to think about this or discover something else awful about the way she thought and felt about how her relationships formed.

Josselyn frowned at how reluctant she was to explore her problems. In the end, however, she obeyed her. The two of them finally reached the library after going up the staircase. When she pushed open the door, her eyes were swirling with inquisitiveness as she soaked in the place. It had a lot of books, not as many of the Red Keep, but quite a lot. It was sizely, even larger than the Sept. You would've thought a place of worship would've been treated more highly than a library.

The ages of these books were extremely old, some of them weren't even books at all but scrolls. Some of them looked strong while other parchments looked fragile, like if you unrolled them then they would fall apart right in your hands. Some had to be sewn together again, which excited her. Just what knowledge was in such old text? Immediately, she began to scour the shelves.

"Stories of the Children of the Forest, Tales of the First of Men, and A History of the Kings of Winter." All of them ignited her interest, a part of her thought about the songs and stories she would have to teach her children one day. Her _Stark_ children. She would tell them about their Baratheon and Lannister family history even the Targaryen, but the North and the Starks would've been much more important to them.

"You're going to read all of this?" Josselyn asked incredulously, watching her place the books on a nearby desk. "I suppose we'll be here for half the night because I'm not letting you read until dawn. I never let Steffon do it, so I won't let you."

Cassandra stiffened upon the mention of her twin, slowly sliding her eyes to the blonde-haired girl who seemed to realize she let his name slip past her lips for the first time since he left. Her surprise gradually went away and then a look of sadness began to reveal itself, making Cassandra instantly feel guilty as she espied it. "Did Steff say anything to you when… you know, the both of you ended things?"

A moment of silence lingered rather awkwardly before Josselyn chose to stare down at the floor, bitterly. Completely crestfallen. "He told me he didn't love me." _'How could you say that,_ _Steffon? Even if that's how you felt, you could've lied to her. Would it have killed you to be kind?'_ Steffon had never been sweet when he parted with his women. Before Josselyn, there was another girl, a servant named Lily. Lily cried for days when Steffon broke things off with her and when Cassandra asked why, he simply said that he didn't like her anymore. Then there was a baker's daughter name Katja and he ended things saying that he didn't like how she kissed, which was a lame reason and probably not the only one. Then there had been the seamstress' daughter, Olivia. He told her that she didn't excite him anymore. All these women became dull to him and Josselyn was now just another among the long line.

"I knew he didn't though." Josselyn managed to say, sniffing as a means to control her emotions. There were no tears falling from her eyes, but her eyes were crying. Her sadness was clear in them. "Part of me just really believed that he would… Just once. When he would look at me and smile, I hoped he did that because he loved me. When he searched for me after many hours of being apart from me, I hoped it was because he missed me so much out of his love for me. I just don't think Steffon is quite capable of loving anyone that isn't you or your father or your mother. I don't think Steffon has any idea what love is either. So he just uses girls until he doesn't want them anymore."

Perceptive as Josselyn was, she was also foolish. She gave him his heart in her hands continuously all the while knowing that he would never give her his in return. Cassandra wondered if Steffon was stunted when it came to love as she was. Out of the many similarities they had, that had to be the worse one to share and it was both of the fault of their parents.

"I'm sorry you've got your heart broken, Joss. I didn't want that to happen to you." She apologized, wondering if interfering in their relationship had been a good thing after all. "But…" Cassandra soon rose a brow, "I see you talking quite often with Theon as of late. What is going on with the two of you?"

"Nothing, really." Rolling her eyes, her friend leaned forward with a smirk. "He's been chasing me the whole week trying to get in-between my legs and I've denied him everyday since." Scoffing, Cassandra wondered what made the Greyjoy so bold and persistent. Then again, he was a Greyjoy. She heard that they were persistent and took things by conquest; the iron price, never the gold. It was in his blood to be aggressive and arrogant. "He's nothing but a lecher."

"At least you know." Taking a seat, she opened the first book of the pile: A History of Kings of Winter. Laying the heavy, hardback book before her, she began to read about the second king after Bran the Builder, Brandon Stark also known as Brandon the Breaker. He had been more interesting than she could imagine. He formed an alliance with a Wildling, a Wildling name Joramun that was King-Beyond-the-Wall, and destroyed the Night's King and his queen. They even had the Night King's name forgotten in history, just leaving him known as the Night King and the thirteenth Lord Commander of the Night's Watch.

Losing track of time, she wasn't quite sure for how long she had read. The candle's wax was melted by a half when she finally turned to look at it. Josselyn was knitting, having prepared to have something to do while the former princess read.

Soon Josselyn stopped her knitting, gazing at her with curiosity. "Are you hungry, Cassie? Perchance parched?"

"I am quite longing for a drink of water." Wrinkling her nose, she watched Jossely stand up from her seat. "You're going to the kitchens?"

"Yes," She nodded, "I'm going to ask once more before I go… Are you hungry?"

Pouting, Cassandra nodded. "Is there anymore of that pie left from din? It was really, really good."

" _Pie_? In the middle of the night? Cassie." Hating how much her best friend was sounding like her mother, she rolled her eyes and looked back into the book. "I'll get you a bowl of fruit."

"Fine." She huffed in defeat, shuffling her feet on the floor in a tantrum. She wanted more of that pie and now she was denied. Cassandra had hoped to eat whatever she wanted now that she was free of her mother's hawkeye, but now Josselyn was measuring how she ate.

 _'I probably should've told Robb that I was going to be here. I hope he isn't worried about me.'_ She thought to herself, biting down on her lip as she looked towards the library door. It wasn't like she owed him any explanation of where she was at all times, but it wouldn't be nice so to let him think something might've happened to her. Now she was beginning to worry, so much that she could hardly concentrate on the texts. Shaking her hair out of frustration, she sooner slammed her hands on the table's surface and stood, making the chair screech across the floor as it slid back. "I don't care if he worries or not. How he feels is not my responsibility. I am my own person and I can do what I want. How Robb Stark feels about it means absolutely nothing to me!"

Within mere seconds of this declaration, she had lost all this spike of confidence and rebelliousness. _'Who am I kidding?'_ She asked herself, falling back into the seat. _'I care. I really care what he thinks… I don't want to. I don't want to care what he thinks or what he likes or… why he smiles like that at me. His stupid smiles. They're just plain stupid. Who told him smiling like that was attractive? They had been a liar. A pretty good liar…'_

Now he was in her thoughts, not leaving them either. He looked so disappointed after dinner when she told him she was going to spend time with Josselyn. It was like how Ryia looked at her when she didn't let her keep the steak bones; like a wounded animal, who only wanted just one small thing and you denied them of it. Laying her head on the table, she shuffled her feet again.

Ryia liked Robb, and didn't care who noticed it either. Just a few days ago, she caught the lioness resting in his lap as he laid in their bed and read while Grey Wind lied at his side, slowly trying to ease the lion off him. The two of them fought over him, even over her sometimes. But everyone seemed so taken with Robb and here she was the only one being so stubborn.

The door had opened with a creak, but she hadn't move to look at who came in. "Josselyn, are you back already? What kind of fruit did you get? I hope it isn't any grapes with seeds." When she wasn't given a reply, she raised her to see nobody was there, but the door was swaying. Knitting her brows together, she tilted her head to the side in question. _'Josselyn must've not shut the door all the way when she left.'_ Lifting herself out of the chair, she had went to close it gently.

A sudden thud had shook her, making her spin to her right just to see a book had fallen from the shelf. Placing her hand over her heart, that was beating ever so quickly, she let out a sigh of relief. _'It's just a book, Cassie. Get a hold of yourself.'_ Easing her fright away, she walked over and picked it up from the ground to put it back, _'Getting scared over a silly, little…'_ Out of the book-sized space in the double-opened shelf, she came eye to eye with a man she never seen before.

"Stay quiet and I'll let you go." He said to her as she clutched the book tightly in her hand. "G'on, leave and keep on going." What was he doing here? Most importantly, what was he aiming to do?

"I can't let you do that, sir." She told him, staring defiantly back into his eyes. "I'm not letting you leave here."

He cackled, thinking her very serious threat as jest. Cassandra knew better than to think he would see her dangerous because she was just a lady, some weak noblewoman to him. With a shove, she had made the large bookcase tilt and fall towards him. He was barely able to outrun it and by the time he threw himself down the aisle, she had met him and brought the book in her hand down onto his head. The book wasn't hardback, so it didn't do much damage, she realized.

His hand wrapped itself around her ankle, pulling her to the floor, making her land with such force on her side that she gasped in pain. The book she used to hit him had left her grasp, her hand curling into a fist. "Get. Your. Filthy. Hands. Off. Me." She told him with each kick with her free foot while pulling the ankle he had within his grasp, trying to make him let go. She managed to hit him square on the nose, the heel in her boots digging into his skin and giving him a gash. Blood began to immediately pour from the wound, giving her enough time to scramble herself back onto her feet as he pressed his hands to his bleeding face.

"Stupid… cunt!" The man screamed, immediately getting himself to his feet and purposely knocking the lit candle on the nearby end table, it had flew towards a bookshelf, letting the paper and covers of the books feed the flame and making it grow large in size. With wide eyes, Cassandra tried to make her escape towards the door, but he had beaten her to it and locked her in from the other side.

"Let me out!" The panic her voice was all to loud and clear, her head slowly turned to let her eyes gaze at the flames that burned with colors and flare, burning all the books and scrolls alight that it touched. _'Is this how I die?'_ She wondered, _'What if I'm to die here? Burnt alive?'_ Made to ashes like these books and paper, becoming nothing and giving her family not a piece of flesh or bone for them to mourn. _'No, I'm not going to die here. I'm not going to let myself die like this!'_ So her fist pounded harder and her voice screamed out louder, she could feel her lungs feeling charred by inhaling all this smoke and ash. Even if her lungs completely fell apart now, she wouldn't stop screaming until someone heard her.

Her hands were growing sore, but she hadn't cared. Her hits had became much harder, much more frantic until hitting the door made her hand sharp with pain. With a wince, she clutched her arm as her as her hand was entirely red. The pain was all in one side, throbbing and making her hand curl in such a tight fist. Her nails was grazing against the skin of her palm as she tried to stretch the muscle and was met with another spasm of pain. Since she was so fucked on the pain of her hand, she hadn't bothered to cover her nose and keep inhaling the smoke.

Pressing her back against the door to keep away from the fire, Cassandra kept her barking cough. At the end of them, a little whistling sound would emit. It didn't take a genius to know if she kept on inhaling this smoke and coughing, it was going to be impossible for her to even just breathe. Within the minutes, the coughs became thick and fast now, the struggle for air much greater than the need to get herself out of this place.

Her eyes turned to look at the fire, watching the flame gambol and flicker like they were dancing as they burned everything they touched. Soon it would come for her, burning her flesh down to her bone. To burn alive had to been one of the worst deaths. It wasn't quickly, just slow and torturous given the amount of fire. Cassandra knew death came for everyone, but she hadn't though it would come for her so soon.

The door behind her suddenly felt like it disappeared. She nearly fell backwards, but she was caught and pulled out of the burning place. Lifting her, Ser Rodrik had carried her down the staircase and to the corridor. He placed her down at her feet, his eyes roaming all over her to find any burns or wounds.

"Lady Cassandra, are you alright?!" He asked her, making sure as she stood there rather dazed with spurts of coughs emitting from her. Men passed them, buckets of water in hand to douse the fire, to salvage the library and to not let the fire spread elsewhere. The former princess was so shaken, so afraid, and so confused. Why did that man try to kill her? What was his purpose? She turned to Ser Rodrik and nodded mutely, making that her answer to him. But his concern was still there, it hadn't left nor lessened, it only increased.

"Cassandra!" Before she could turn to the voice, she felt strong arms wrap themselves around her, her body being crushed by the body she had only felt against her own once. The only difference was there was clothes between them now and he wasn't holding her for pleasure, but out of fear. One hand was pressed to the back of her head, keeping her gazing over his shoulder, and his other arm locked tightly around her middle as she felt like she was being crushed against him.

She wasn't sure why that now in Robb's arms that the need to cry had came so strong to her then. It should've came when she was locked in the tower, about to be burnt alive, but the tears were coming down her face like rivulets while she was within Robb's embrace. Her arms that had limply remained at her side had soon came to circle around him, her fist grabbing handfuls of his gambeson as she held onto him for what felt like for dear life.

"I almost…"

"But you didn't." He stopped her, seeming to know what she was going to say. "You're here, _alive_ , and that's all that matters now." With her brows bowed and her lip being chewed between her teeth to keep herself from sobbing, she felt Robb pull away from her and cup both his hands to her face. Cassandra didn't want to look at him, she wanted to feel ashamed about being weak like this. She could've done a better job at protecting herself, she could've done so many things different, but most of all… She should've caught that man like she said she was.

"I… I let him get away." All he was was a blur to her now, a grey blur. Her tears kept pouring, hot with her anger.

He kept swiping away at the ones that poured from the corner of her eyes. She soon heard Josselyn's voice, panicked and out of breath from how hard she ran. "There has been attack on Bran's life, the Lady Stark is wounded."

 ** _STEFFON_**

The pavilion was crowded as they were made to stand. He thought that when his he and his mother arrived that they would be arriving late, but Lord Stark and his daughters were not even here yet. Steffon stood opposite of his father, mother, and Joffrey since he meant to oppose both his mother and his brother. He was sure his mother understood where he stood meant because she was frowning at him as her hand laid upon Joffrey's shoulder. Quickly coming in was a dirty, breeches wearing Arya, all by herself and without her lady sister Sansa. When Arya realized just how many people were here, she seemed quite tense under the many gazes, but she soon lost her fears at the sight of his brother. She found her anger bubbling for him all over again.

Lord Stark then followed behind and looked so relieved to see her. Steffon watched their little reunion, his father not caring how dirty she was as he held her and asking her if she was alright and where she had been before he decided to stand. "What is the meaning of this?" Lord Stark questioned as he looked around the pavilion and then at the king. "Why was I not told that my daughter had been found?" Hardly ever since he first met the North's Warden did he see the man so angry, but it concerned his daughter so it only made sense why he would take nothing lightly. "Why was she not brought to me at once?"

"How dare you speak to your king in that manner!" Steffon's eyes swept across the room to glare at his mother, ready to pry his lips open and tell her she was being outrageous.

His father didn't like her input neither. "Quiet, woman!" He ordered fiercely, straightening in his chair. "I am sorry, Ned. I never meant to frighten the girl. It seemed best to bring her here and get the business done with quickly."

"And what business is that?"

His mother stepped forward to speak again, but Steffon spoke in time. "An incident happened at the banks of the Trident, Lord Stark."

"An incident?" His mother repeated incredulously "Stark's daughter attacked your brother, my son, her and her butcher's boy! This isn't so small to be dubbed an incident, Steffon."

Raising a brow, he wondered just how Joffrey managed to make her believe this story he made up. "And how would you know, mother? That isn't what happened at all. You weren't there, you only have hearsay." His mother quieted at that, most people shocked that he spoke to his mother so rudely. It was either be rude or let the lies fly, and he chose the former without regret. Lord Stark turned to look at him and then down at his daughter.

"Prince Steffon is right, what the queen and Prince Joffrey says isn't true. He had to come and stop Joffrey because he was hurting Mycah!"

His father looked at him, wanting some confirmation. "She says the truth." Steffon told him, knowing the question in his eyes.

"That is not what Joff says, he says the Stark girl and the butcher boy beat him with clubs." Cersei continued on defending Joffrey. His words were truth to her ears, that's why the boy was so spoiled.

"And what Joff says is a lie." Steffon countered, his voice growing much more taut at his rousing anger. He wasn't going to have Joffrey getting away with this, not now or ever. If he had to grow up and face things then it was about time Joffrey did too instead of hiding behind their mother's skirts. At least Myrcella took more responsibility than he did. "They didn't even have clubs, they had broom handles. Joffrey came to taunt them and he unsheathed live steel on a little boy and a little girl thinking it was appropriate. I came to stop him before he even dared to hurt Lady Arya and the Butcher's boy."

"You lie!" Joffrey shouted, "They both attacked me, and she threw Lion's Tooth in the river so I couldn't protect myself!" It was obvious Joffrey wasn't even going to attempt to tell the truth about his part in it. Lion's Tooth wasn't even in his hand when Arya threw it in the river. The funny thing about it all is that, Joffrey wouldn't even look Arya in the eye as he said it. If you were going to lie then you must look someone in the eye to make it believable, but Steffon had reason to believe that Joffrey himself couldn't believe what he was spewing. He couldn't even act like he did.

Arya, fed up with Joffrey stupid tale, shook her head. "Liar!" She yelled, boldly as ever.

"Shut up!" Joffrey, like a child her age, barked back.

"Enough!" Steffon closed his eyes briefly, wanting pinch the bridge of his nose as his father roared and stood from his seat. This would've never have happened if Joffrey had minded his own business and left Mycha and Arya be. He should've just spent his time with Sansa, why did he have to do something crazy and malicious? "Now, child, you will tell me what happened. Tell it all, and tell it true. It is a great crime to lie to a king." His king father looked over at Joffrey, trying to be fair. "When she is done, you will have your turn and then Steffon. Until then, you hold your tongue, Joff."

As Arya recounted the events from her perspective, the flap of the pavilion had parted and Sansa came walking in. Sansa kept her head bowed while Arya continued on, having got to the part where Joffrey's sword had been thrown into the Trident, which made his Uncle Renly laugh.

Robert hadn't enjoyed the fact that his youngest brother took humor in he turned his gaze to Selmy, "Ser Barristan, escort my brother before he chokes."

Trying to stifle the laughter that didn't seem to want to go away, Lord Renly held out his hand to stop Ser Barristan. "My brother is too kind. I can find my way out myself." Bowing to Joffrey, he stood straight with his blue-eyes laughing still. "Perchance later you'll tell me how a little girl the size of a wet rat managed to disarm you with a stick and throw your sword in the river." As Renly made his way to leave, Steffon had to hold his own laugh as Renly laughed again. "Lion's Tooth…" He nearly cried.

Joffrey was red in embarrassment and rage. Uncle Renly was not the only man who found all if this humorous, many others were snickering and trying to keep their laughs low. Steffon had saw his father send heated glares to them all, ready to kick them the whole lot of them out if they continued on.

Now it was Joffrey's turn, spinning a giant web of lies upon lies. Steffon had to control himself for not interrupting every five minutes or rolling his eyes or sighing halfway through it. Their own father acted like he didn't even care, he was sure that the man didn't give two shits about this squabble. He looked like a blank wall, probably thinking about food and drink right about now.

"Steffon," His father turned to him, that dull glaze leaving his eyes and focusing on him, "tell me what happened."

"I don't know the beginning for I missed that much. When I arrived to the Trident, I had saw Joffrey pointing Lion's Tooth at the butcher's boy. Arya had tried to disarm him, trying to knock the sword away to protect Mycah, and ended up hitting Joffrey on the head as she did." He had no problem lying about that last bit, if Joffrey and his mother could lie about their story for its entirety then he could add one in his own. "Then he turned his sword to Arya and that's when I used my own to keep Joffrey's down. He proceeded to inform me that Arya hit him and called her a number obscenities." Steffon looked down at Arya, who was smiling up at him and he gave her a smile in return. "Then I struck him." He made sure to look his father in the eye as he informed him that, "I was disgusted by his behavior and I hit him for it and told him to tell our mother what happened."

Robert looked to Joffrey, who was fuming now yet managed to keep his tongue like their father warned. "They weren't the only ones present," Ned told them, "Sansa, come here. Tell us what happened."

Steffon had reason to believe that Sansa wouldn't come to his defense. After all, she didn't like him much since he had struck Joffrey for his disgusting actions. Even now, she took her steps with hesitancy, she didn't look at all eager to speak. She looked to her sister first and then at Joffrey before she spoke. "I don't know." Closing his eyes, he sighed and shook his head. "I don't remember. Everything happened so fast, I didn't see…"

"You rotten!" shouted Arya and before she could tackle her sister to the ground, Steffon picked her up to hold her back. "Liar, liar, liar, liar!" She was kicking, trying her best to escape his grasp, but he held her tight just not enough to crush her as he did.

"Arya, stop it!" Her father shouted at her, but Arya was too deep in her anger towards her sister. Steffon hardly knew how to calm her down, he reasoned that she eventually would. Sansa stared at her little sister, whose hands resembled claws as she tried to swipe at her.

"The girl is as wild as that filthy animal of hers. Robert, I want her punished." Whipping his head to glower at his mother, he hurriedly look to his father to see if he would submit to such extremities.

"Seven hells," His father said, "Cersei, look at her. She's a child. What would you have me do, whip her through the streets? Damn it, children fight. It's over. No lasting harm was done."

"What does she need punishment for when she did nothing wrong, mother?" Steffon demanded, not taking this lightly. "It was Joffrey's fault and he's the only one that deserves punishment."

"He needs a lesson and this was a good one. Fighting a little girl and then getting himself disarmed by one. He needs the discipline." Robert turned to look at him, nodded his head. "Steffon and Arya's story match and Steffon would never lie to me. He hasn't lied to me once in all his life while Joff has told me several. Discipline your daughter as I discipline my son, Ned. This matter is done and dead."

"And what of the butcher's boy?" His mother inquired, her taste for blood much to visible and making Steffon sick.

He already had a plan for all this. It was set in motion before his mother spoke to him and right when he returned back to their camp. He wondered just how they would react to all of this. What was he was about to say was bound to enrage his mother, but Joffrey even more. "I will be taking care of the butcher's boy. I already knight him."

The room was silent, swept away with shock. His mother blinked several times, "You what?!"

"I knighted him." Steffon rocked back and forth between his heels and the tip of his toes, his his hands clasped behind him. It would irate his mother more to act as if what he just done wasn't a power move. He pretended to be innocent, like he hadn't truly done something that completely took away all that she could possibly do to Mycah. "He wanted to play a knight and so I made him one. I assure you, mother, he and the butcher were _very_ upset." A lie, but a lie that must be told. In fact, the butcher was grateful and delighted and Mycah was so happy. He was knight before half of the Kingsguard to bear witness and Steffon didn't mind doing the ritual over again before his father if need be. "He was supposed to inherit his father's caste, but he will be my knight instead. When he is ready and proper, he will become apart of my Kingsguard. I assure you, I won't let him off easy."

Mycah being apart of the Kingsguard in the future had been a random plan, but one that would come the the most use to him. Since he knew his mother had her own puppet strings within it, Steffon needed more than just Ser Barristan. He would need to convince a few more of them and add more to his own if he wanted to shift the balance of power. Not only that, Ser Barristan was getting quite old and couldn't be Captain of the Kingsguard forever. Whoever was next, it could be his uncle, and he didn't want that. It had to be someone who was undoubtedly on his side.

The tension was thick, his mother was in complete and utter shock. It was because she knew Mycah was untouchable to her now and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Others were shocked and others not so much because it would seem like an act of mercy, which indeed it was. Steffon was cunning in that aspect, but it would show others that Steffon believed in fair punishment and not the murder of children. Steffon knew appearances had to matter for all the things he planned to do. People will speak of these days where he spared the children of the lower-class and surely gain him favors in the future. Mycah's life did not solely hinge on what was right, but what was right that would come out of it for him being saved.

His king father had lit up with amusement. Steffon could guess that his father did not see him doing something like this, and probably had the faintest idea as to why he did. His father may not be so strong with logic, but he could see moves mapped and why someone would do what that they did. It should've been seen to him that Steffon saved Mycah on the principle of being kind and just than it was for anything else. "What's done is done, the boy's been knighted. We're all bloody done with this now. Now we can all leave." Anxious as he was to his cup of wine in bed, he was sure his father thought this to be the best entertainment he was ever going to get for the night.

Relieved that Joffrey nor his mother got their way, Steffon noticed that Arya had completely stopped her wriggling in his grasp. Her eyes were looking up at him big and shining. "You knighted Mycah?" The way she asked was mostly of surprise, but there was awe in her voice. It made him feel wrong that she had not seen through him, that she was seeing the surface of it all. "You were amazing just now."

"I did. Amazing?" Steffon didn't like that person he had to become. This person that had to outgun his own mother and brother, to go through all this just to achieve the right things. How did it all come to this? Then he remembered it was because his mother was treacherous and nothing like the mother he always envisioned her to be. The mother that he always felt sorry for, the mother that turned out to be a cold woman that did not mind killing children; innocent, harmless children.

Speaking of them, Joffrey had furiously pushed their mother's hand away as he stalked off, his mother was burning holes in the back of his head. He was sure his mother was going to tear into him for choosing strangers over his own "family". Family became before everything else to her and it once did to him too.

Ned Stark sent Arya and Sansa away with Jory, leaving the both of them in the empty pavilion. The silence lingered quite long, leaving Steffon finally being able to breathe, knowing that something could've possibly been wrong with his speedy actions. "You should've chose your mother, Steffon." Those words made the doubt in him grow into a large dark and grey cloud over him. He was so fixed on one-upping her, punishing her, that he hadn't realized that all of this could backfire on him or hollow he would feel using a child like this. He was so fixed on what he wanted to do and not at all of the outcome or how he would feel whilst doing it. "She is your queen mother, though she was rather harsh in her judgement now, she is still your mother most of all, but I thank you. I thank you for defending my daughter."

His eyes slowly lifted to look at Ned Stark, a smile playing about his lips. "I chose justice, Lord Stark, that's all." Was this justice? Was it truly? Steffon found himself wondering or was this just petty revenge he just did. It was nothing in the grand schemes of what he planned, but it felt like a kick to a lame lamb. "Besides, I'm quite taken with your youngest daughter. She's wild-spirited and good. I know the death of her friend would've been hard for her. It would've been hard for me as well. I don't have many friends, so I can't imagine what it feels to lose one. It must be something like this pain I feel right now having to endure my sister being afar."

The Warden nodded understandingly and presented him a smile, "You're quite an honorable lad, my prince." Honorable? It made him feel wrong to hear him be dubbed that. There was no honor and all the things he done. Steffon wanted to believe there was some honor in him, but from where? Honor was not inheritable in this family. His family was filled with people with tainted honor.

"You won't think that for long, Lord Stark." Steffon told him with light warning. "Honor does not live in the South as it does so vigilantly in the North. It is not so important to everyone as it is to you, remember that." If Lord Stark thought he rule as Hand with honor then he was a foolish man. A noble fool; a good-hearted fool but a fool no less. "You should learn that because in the days to come, you're going to see how barbarous the South truly is."


	8. Chapter Seven: Family Ties

**Author's Note** : All of these reviews give me life. I mean it. I live through these reviews, but you guys are too smart. Can I surprise you guys at least once? Lol.

magicdownunder: Not too much, hopefully! I can't imagine her having starry eyes for too much longer.

Evaline101: The faceclaims I use for Steffon and Cassandra are Emil Andersson and Anna Speckhart.

HopelessRomantic44: I hope you enjoy this one as well! Steffon is getting so many fans.

Soccer-Bitch: Thank you!

Guest: I just finished writing the chapter when I read your review, and I'm just like "Am I that obvious?" Lol. Those are some good ideas and I hope you're patient enough to see Cassandra come around. Sometimes she wants to but gets a little frightened, she'll find her way though.

Thank you so much! I'm trying to steer her down paths I normally don't read as best I can to give everyone something new. She'll definitely be growing! I have plans for her. Don't worry, I won't! I have too much fun writing this.

* * *

 _ **ROBB**_

"I'm starting to think my wife would rather be married to Rickon than to me." Even though it was said out of jest, Robb had half a mind to believe it. Rickon spent more time with Cassandra than he did and she actively sought his company. And here he was, tray in hand, giving her the soup that the Maester suggested she stay on until her coughing was cured. It was a job for servants and yet he was using this miniscule task at an excuse for conversation. Robb nearly bent over backwards to please her, to give them amity, and she had turned away from him as if all his efforts were for naught. Even after comforting her after the fire, the distance hadn't lessened by the slightest margin.

What did he have to do? What did words did he have to say? Did he offend her? Did he do something wrong? What was it about him that made her want to avoid him at any moment possible?

"Why are you trying so hard?" Theon dared to ask, brow quirked and his arms crossed as they walked slow enough to get where they were going and to properly talk privately. "If she isn't willing then you best start looking elsewhere to have your needs met."

It didn't seem bizarre for his best friend to suggest he spend his time with a whore. It wasn't what he meant, what Robb had meant; he hadn't been worried about those needs. Not entirely, however. He enjoyed their coupling, hoped to do it again, but that wasn't the priority. He wanted to properly know her, he didn't even know what she liked other than those candied almonds. Rickon probably knew her favorite color already, and that was the sad thing. "Is that really all you think about, Theon? I could actually want to know more about her, if you don't mind."

In some ways, he did find himself offended that Theon suggested such a thing. Robb prided in himself in honor and knowing very well what Jon endured as well as his mother's anger over the child made outside her marriage, he couldn't risk repeating his father's mistake. Robb worshipped his father and yet he knew that following his footsteps exactly wasn't something he should want or be capable of. "She likely doesn't really want to get to know you, so be done with it. She probably thinks she's better than us… Her handmaiden certainly thinks herself more highly than to the likes of me."

Unsure of what he was going on about, Robb quirked an eyebrow. "You mean Josselyn?" What would give Theon that impression of her? Robb knew her to be friendly and very polite. What Theon had against her didn't really make sense to him, but he was sure he was going to be given an explanation.

"She's the one the prince was fucking around the castle and now she thinks she's too good for me." He should've suspected that. Perhaps Josselyn had enough sense to know Theon wouldn't marry her and would just use her. If he did like her enough, she'd probably be a salt-wife at best since his friend believed in the traditions of old; marry the iron, mistress the other. The girl wasn't so foolish. Robb actually found himself commending her over the fact that she possibly knew better than to get herself involved with him. Theon may have been his best friend, but their ways of thinking didn't align all the time.

"Perhaps the next man she'll lay with would be the one she marries." The acting Lord of Winterfell decided to explain in her defense. "Considering her chances of marriage are quite… thinned." If kept quiet, she could possibly pass for a virgin. Most women lost their maidenheads to a number of things; horseback riding and so on, but if someone knew of her and the prince's former relationship then she be named the prince's whore and be considered ruined all her life. He couldn't blame the girl for not taking risks on her slim chances now.

Rolling his eyes to the ceiling, the ward shook his head. "Marriage this, marriage _that_." He said disdainfully, "Why would anyone want to marry anyone when they don't even have to?" Considering Theon himself had his own problems in that, being a hostage ward and still practically a heir, Robb could see why he was put off by it. "You can all have it. I don't want it." Robb couldn't even begin to say that Theon might change his mind one day. Even if he did, there might be two suns in the sky.

Finally reaching the bedchamber he now shared, Robb could hear talking from the other side of the door. "Sounds like Rickon." smirking, Theon tilted his head in amusement. "Maybe you aren't so wrong as I thought."

"Shut up, will you?" Squinting his eyes at him, he knocked twice to alert them of his presence before opening the door. Cassandra was sitting upright, hands clasped and her eyes crinkling, possibly finished laughing at whatever his little brother rambled on about. Rickon was sitting at the edge of the bed, grinning, before looking at him from over his shoulder. "I hope I'm not interrupting." Robb hoped he was. He hoped his little brother would be leaving…Wasn't his lessons around this time?

Her eyes briefly looked at him before turning her attention back towards the youngest Stark. "Perhaps another time, Rickon? I'd like to hear an end to this story."

"C'mon, Rickon." Theon called to him, "You ought to be with Maester Luwin anyway. Skippin' out on lessons isn't good for a little lord." Grimacing upon remembering the time, Rickon gave her a hurried nod before running towards the door.

Robb looked relieved, now alone with his wife. "The Maester made me bring you some soup to cure your cough."

Her face scrunched upon the mere mention of the soup, she even stuck out her tongue in disgust before turning her head away. "I don't want it." The former princess told him without a second to waste. "Give me bacon and fish, like any normal person eats in the morn."

 _'What a bull-headed girl.'_ He affectionately thought, not giving into her request and placing the tray before her. "I can't do that." Robb urged, "The Maester says soup." Rolling her eyes, Cassandra huffed in her slight tantrum before her eyes slowly looked down to gaze at the steaming dish. He half expected for her to push it away, to not let go of her resolve and continue to be as stubbornly childish as she was acting. If Rickon told her to drink it, she probably would. He could imagine his little brother giving her the simplest of words and his eyes big, willing her to listen, to smile even. She would've done it without argument, but now it was left to him since it was just the two of them now.

After a minutes time and another reluctant sigh, she caved. Her hands wrapped themselves around the bowl, picking it up, and slowly drawing it to her lips. With another stare off, she practically chugged it down; drinking it in such a hurry, just to simply be done with it. Taking a seat where Rickon once was, he watched her finish the last bit with a frown and a wrinkle of her nose. "I hate carrots." She said, her disgust etched on her entire face with her lips shining, making him want to laugh from the sight alone. "Even with the sweet flavoring they still make themselves known; rude is what they are.

"This is the first time I ever heard someone call carrots rude." Robb joked, making her smile if only for just a few seconds before her eyes looked disdainfully back at the vegetables. "Maester Luwin says they do something for the body, I don't really remember what exactly."

"Sight." Cassandra answered him, quickly at that. "A healer once told me they're good for sight…" Seeing how enthusiastic she seemed about saying it, his wife tried to quickly retract it and act as if she hadn't cared. "Or something like that…" She shrugged, keeping her eyes focused on the empty bowl. Unsure of whether it was the interest on his face that made her continue or because she actually wanted to talk about it, she continued. "Beyond the Narrow sea, they have food medicine. Certain foods help in certain ways and that's why the people live so long over there."

"What business does a princess have knowing of food medicine?" Raising a brow, he watched her face contort into one of irritation, eyeing him and then softening just to see her was only poking fun. Her face always gave away how she felt, she didn't know how to mask herself. It was refreshing, her outward honesty, that is. He was sure that there were plenty of times she wished she wasn't so well-read, especially towards him. The princess wasn't all that warmed to him yet, and he supposed he would have to be patient.

His wife tapped her lanky fingers against the sides of the wooden bowl, still stuck in in her thoughts. For a second too long, she decidedly gave him her full attention. With a quirk of her lips, he was enlightened with a story. "Steffon was sick once when we were younger. Little brats our Uncle Jaime would say since we use to like to give him trouble. Steffon was so tough, so brave even while sick. He was sweating and shaking all the time, but he told me we'd still play together and play pirates with Joffrey."

For some reason, Robb thought that Joffrey was fitted for a pirate; ruthless, greedy, and believing everything they wished to claim was rightfully theirs. "Joffrey liked being the captain and having me as his first mate. I had to be a boy though, never a girl first mate. Joffrey said it didn't fit." She snorted, rolling her eyes at the memory. "Steffon was always the bad pirate, a rival of the sorts, that Joffrey liked to beat. Joffrey kept crying and crying when Steffon couldn't play and sometimes Steffon would lie to us by saying he was better just to play with us."

"Then one day, while we were playing in the middle of our war in the seas, he fainted and wouldn't wake up. Our mother and father tried to get any healer across Westeros to save him. Many came forward and none of them were able to wake him, we were almost afraid Steffon was lost to us for a while. By luck or by blessing as I once believed, a traveling healer across the Narrow sea arrived in King's Landing and decided to treat him. His treatment? He gave him foods. He said in order to coax a child to take medicine and let it work, you have to hide it within things he likes. So he fed Steffon all his favorites that mother named with medicine in them."

It sounded unheard of, at least to Robb it did. Nobody in the North had done that, he didn't imagine Maester Luwin would suggest such a treatment. Though he supposed perhaps he was wrong seeing as the Maester knew soup was a better diet for Cassandra's current condition. "Steffon woke up and still kept taking the medicine. The healer claimed that Steffon was getting better with the food he ate and because he was happier, his body was allowing the medicine to work. By a week's time, he was completely cured. My mother and father never been so happy and I never saw Joffrey smile so happily like that before."

"I take it you and Joffrey aren't exactly close as you once were." Whether he was overstepping his boundaries, he wasn't sure. The look on her face had lost its lightheartedness entirely and took on a rather sad note. Her smile lacked the luster it just had and her eyes closed halfway whilst staring absently at the empty bowl again.

"No, I'm afraid not. I could've done something to change that, really." Handing him the empty bowl, she laced her fingers together and rested them on her lap. "I wasn't there for Joffrey when he needed someone, but I wasn't the someone he needed… He needed Steffon. I am the luckier out of three less lucky than Tommen and Myrcella, but the luckiest of the eldest children. My father isn't hard on me or holds many responsibilities over my head as he does them. Our father is harsh on them both and expects a great deal from them. Steffon knows that better than anyone else and yet he did not see Joffrey's suffering. So Joffrey endured it alone when Steffon had me. Since we're twins we relied on each other, but Joffrey needed his older brother than he did his older sister."

Even though Robb and Joffrey had their differences, he felt sorry for him, just a bit upon hearing it through this perspective. While he had expectations of being Lord of Winterfell, their father wasn't exactly harsh as he imagined a king would be their prince sons. The expectations had to be on a higher tier than his own, and while Joffrey was only second in line, it still mattered. It still was a big responsibility.

"I don't think Steffon really knows just how much Joffrey looked up to him… He probably still does. Steffon is always so busy that he isn't aware of anything."

Lowering his head, he fiddled with this his gloves as he thought more about it. It made him forget how impressionable it was to be an older sibling, and it made him feel guilty for not being more focused on Bran. If only he hadn't encouraged his climbing or was much more strict than none of what happened would've occurred. Though he supposed it didn't matter since Bran's fall was starting to look less and less like an accident after the assassination attempt that nearly killed his brother, mother, and his wife.

"How are you feeling?" Seeing as this conversation wasn't exactly good for her mind, he decided to change the topic by shifting to herself and not the family she missed. Not only was he reminding her of a different time, he was allowing his ownself to feel guilty about something he couldn't change.

"Fine, I suppose." It sounded like a lie from how she said it. She turned her head, eyes staring out at the windows into the morning of the North. "I want to get out of here." Out of Winterfell or out of this room? He was unsure.

"And what is out of here, Princess?" Robb asked, making Cassandra slowly turn her head to give him back her attention. "We can go for a walk, if you want to."

"I would… like that." Hesitant as she was, she agreed to it. It would be the first time in days she decided to be alone with him. His face eased into a smile, hoping that this would the first step into forming a proper relationship.

 **lll**

Since he did not prepare for her to actually say yes, Robb didn't have anything in mind to speak about. After giving her a piece of her home and family life, sad it might've been, he tried to think of things that would lighten the mood and keep her mind far away from those things. When he needed a distraction, he would come to the Godswood and pray, and seeing as she did not share his gods, he didn't think she would enjoy that all too much. And yet when his feet led them there, his wife didn't seem displeased. In fact, she smiled upon laying her eyes on the heart tree.

To think it wasn't that long ago that they had married in front of the Old Gods. This very place they swore themselves to one another and were still unsure of what the future might bring; bliss or chaos. Even now, the both of them were still unsure, but Robb liked to think the former was what would be given to them. In most aspects, Robb liked his wife. Even if he didn't know much about her, she wasn't rude or cruel.

How exactly did she feel about him was a mystery within itself. Her constant pushing and random pulling had him feeling like he was never truly bound to find out. After all her pushing, she was pulling again, and who was to say the next time she pushed, she would want him to stay there. "I find it oddly… beautiful." She said to him, her eyes staring at the face of the weirwood. "I used to be scared of them when I was younger when the Septa brought me to the Godswood in King's Landing to teach me about the old gods. She didn't speak highly of them, you should know why, I presume."

"You were scared?" It wasn't surprising, he too felt uncomfortable staring at such a thing when he first laid eyes on them. However, it drew him in, strangely. The old odsg seemed to call him, speaking to him in their hushed whispers. He couldn't find himself giving his faith to the Seven after the first time he heard their advice in the winds.. "I suppose she wouldn't since she is devout to the Seven."

"Isn't that normal of a child? Never seeing a face on a tree before and then seeing a tree with a face _and_ bleeding eyes?" Smiling, he told himself not to laugh just in case it would offend her. "I was most definitely afraid…" Slowly tilting her head back, her eyes roamed away from the face and towards the bright leaves.

He found himself unable to tear his eyes away, the setting was all too bewitching. The Stark look was always fair skin and dark hair, which his wife seemed to possess. He had the look of Tully, but his wife looked like she truly belonged in the North. Under these leaves of blood-red, she looked as if she truly belonged here, more than he ever did. She could give their children the look of his father and forefathers. For some reason, Robb couldn't help but feel all too eager about that.

"Have you ever… wavered in your faith?" It was such an odd question, odd enough to make him stop gawking at her before she noticed. Cassandra wanted to know the most random things about him, but religion was probably important, he assumed.

"Sometimes." Robb admitted, shifting his focus to the leaves that hung on the branches stretched out above them. "I wavered when learning of Bran's fall and what became of him."

From the corner of his peripherals, he saw her nod. "I've questioned the Seven too about a lot of things. Never strong enough to give them up, but enough they might think I'm not so devout."

"How could you not be when you nearly prayed all through the night?" If anyone was so religious, Robb knew it to be her. He never heard of an all-night prayer and yet she came here and promised to do just that for his little brother she barely knew. She believed so strongly in the Seven then, he would've never thought she turned the slightest bit of her back to them.

Her arm, still wrapped around his, had loosened its hold. "And yet the Mother did not help your brother, now did she? He still lays sleep and broken. She did nothing to protect him or bring him back." Letting her arm slip away from him and fall to her side, she took a step towards the moss-covered bench and took a seat. He hadn't guessed she was still so torn about Bran's condition, considering she had not come to visit him since these recent events. He didn't fault for her for it. It was difficult for everyone to stay in the sickroom just to watch him just sleep.

"As much as I hate to say it," Taking a seat beside her, he let out a sigh as he stared at the pool before them, "we must be patient. All good things come in time as my parents like to say."

With an inelegant snort, Cassandra turned her head to laugh. "My mother and father could never abide by that. They're both so impatient."

"And neither could you." Robb stated, watching her head whip to face him. Cassandra seemed so annoyed by him saying that, her smile turned to a frown in a matter of seconds. "You're not so patient either."

"I am so." There was a lack of fight in her voice, making it look as if she had a hard time believing that herself.

"Just as you were patient to not stuff yourself full of candied almonds?" His eyes caught her cringing before quickly schooling her expression and bringing her hand hard on his arm with a slap. Not enough make the boy yelp, but enough to make him instantly soothe it with a rub from the slight sting.

"Enough! Are you never going to let me hear the end of that? It was just one time!" Finally, it felt like the two could laugh and breathe without any awkward tension becoming between them. For a moment, he could see his wife as a friend and not some princess he had been made to marry so quickly out fulfillment their fathers had about close Houses. For once, he was looking at Cassandra not Lady Cassandra Stark or Princess Cassandra Baratheon.

The stillness of the Godswood had always brought him peace, even more so now as he had someone to enjoy it with him. The wind would ruffle the branches of the trees, giving the surrounding area of prayer a song for them. The quiet would be interrupt now and again by his voice or hers, leaving their laughs echoing all around. If made him feel so strange to find happiness during such a time like this and he knew it wouldn't live but for so long.

The conversations that began and ended were all that could be considered childish. What games they would play in the North and the South, what they liked to do when they had time away from their studies and away from their siblings. He found out Cassandra liked to draw, which surprised him since he didn't see her doing much of that while she was here. She even promised to send Tommen and Myrcella some drawings should she explore more of the North.

It hadn't at all surprised her that he liked swordplay, practicing with a lance whether it was by himself or with another. She said Steffon was the same and even admitted that her twin liked to paint whenever he thought nobody would bother him. Just imagining the Crown Prince with a paintbrush and a canvas struck Robb as odd, but Cassandra assured him that if he were to have ever see it, he would find it fitting.

"I should buy a Myrish lens and make you watch the stars with me." She said, looking down at her feet that was adorned with black boots to keep her warm from the cold and eventually able to walk through the snow that was bound to fall and pile soon. "Do you know much about them? I know everything there is to know."

"Only a few things." He shrugged, never once taking interest in a matter of the twinkling lights that only shown themselves in the night. "I never caught the interest."

"I'll show you why you should." Her confidence didn't at all surprise him, "The stars should never be ignored. They can tell of the future and I think everyone deserves to have a little insight of the days of new."

Before Robb could explain that knowing the future wasn't always a good thing, Maester Luwin came to enter the Godswood, his hands hidden beneath his large sleeves as he made their way over. He bowed his head once the both of them were aware of him, but it was Cassandra that quickly brought herself to her feet. "Maester, is there any news of my goodmother?"

His lips curled into a smile as his wife quickly made her worries for his mother known. "Lady Stark is in no danger, Princess. When she is more than able, I'll be sure to have you see her. If I may, could I speak to your husband in private?" Furrowing his brows, Robb looked to the Maester with question and Cassandra seemed quite puzzled as well. Her head slowly turned to look at him before giving him the slightest of bows and taking her leave. He didn't have the chance to halt her to say that Cassandra should be allowed to hear whatever the Maester had to tell him. That's what his father would've done for his mother.

Since it was already too late, Robb made himself to stand. He couldn't help but feel there was something urgent about this business and that they would be made to leave once he was told of the details. "What is it, Maester Luwin?"

"Your mother wishes to speak with you." When Luwin said his mother was fine, he didn't inform him that she had woken. His mother slept for four days since the incident with Bran. "She deems it urgent."

"Then I will go to her." Before he could hurry himself to his mother's side, the bony hand of the Maester halted him. "What? You said she deems it urgent."

"She will be making her way here, my lord." Confused as to why his mother wanted to speak here, Robb tried to think what could be so important that she'd rather it stay in private in the Godswood. This was not the place of his mother's worship, but it was a quiet place. A place where secrets could be said and not be discovered, he soon put together.

Soon they were approached by Ser Rodrik and then Theon came after him. None of them held the knowledge of what his mother wanted to speak with them about and that made his worry twice as strong. By the time his mother had arrived, Robb had felt pity. Her fingers wore bandages still and she looked paler than she ever looked before. She was a woman still coming to terms from what happened days ago while her own son had been pursuing such frivolous things like closeness to his wife.

"What I am about to tell you must remain between us." His mother broke the silence and somehow, the Godswood had felt so much more eerie to him. He was tense, unsure, and afraid of what his mother was going to say. "I don't think Bran fell from that tower." Her eyes looked at each and everyone of them, "I think he was thrown."

With wide eyes, he immediately stare at his mother in disbelief. Thrown? Her words repeated in his head over and over as he tried to come to terms of this bold accusation. "The boy was always sure-footed before." Luwin seemed to agree as he told that to Ser Rodrik.

"Someone tried to kill him twice. Why?" Whether it was anger or sorrow, Robb was unsure of why his mother's voice trembled. He found anger seething within him, starting like a flame before it spread through him like wildfire. "Why murder an innocent child? Unless he saw something he wasn't meant to see."

"Saw what, my lady?" Theon asked.

"I don't know." His mother answered, "But I would stake my life that the Lannisters are involved. We already have reason to suspect their loyalty to the crown."

Now his throat felt taut. Lannisters? For one, his wife was half a Lannister. Did his mother believe she could be involved in this as well? Confused, he kept himself silent. His mind was becoming a mess as he tried to push away any sort of thought that would dare connect Cassandra into all of this.

"Did you notice the dagger the killer used?" Ser Rodrik pointed out, holding the weapon within his hands. "It's too fine a weapon for such a man." He unsheathed it first, letting their eyes behold the sight of pure Valyrian steel that shined when shown. "The blade is Valyrian steel, the handle Dragonbone." After such a brief description, he sheathed the sword back in its scabbard. "A weapon like that has no business being in the hands of such as him. Someone gave it to him."

What if it were true? All arrows seemed to point it true. He was enraged, unable to control himself now. "They come into our home and try to murder my brother." This couldn't be forgotten. This could not be left without the hand of justice being given. "Why not let me take the dagger and let Cassandra see it. Surely, she could inform us of whom it would belong to."

His mother pondered the idea before closing her eyes, giving a shake of her head. "And what if she knows and tells us a lie? This is her family, Robb. As much as I want to believe Cassandra be not involved in this, she would want to protect her family, would she not? She holds a love for them far greater than she could feel for you."

But he was her husband. Bran was her brother now and they, the Starks, were her family now too; she was cloaked and given their name. They swore in front of the gods for the love of all things right. Would she truly turn a blind eye to those, family or no, that would bring an end to a child? Robb had thought her too highly of that.

"Then what do we do, Mother? Do we give them war? If it's war they want…" War? Against his wife's own family? Did it really have to go that far? And would she turn on him? Go running back to her Lannister family and leave him behind?

His best friend sided with him on this. Theon took a step forward, a step towards him in a means to prove his undoubted loyalty. "You know if it comes to that, I'll stand behind you."

Yet the Maester made sure they would perish the thought. "What?" He said questioningly, calm as he always was. "Is there going to be a battle in the Godswood, hm? Too easily words of war become acts of war, we don't know the truth yet."

The truth… Yes, he supposed the man was right. They did not know the truth. Robb was being reckless now, he realized. Turning his attention away from him, Luwin focused his eyes back to his mother. "Lord Stark must be told of this."

Catelyn seemed quite unsure about the matter of how such words should be presented. "I do not trust a raven to carry these words."

"I'll ride to King's Landing." Robb quickly offered, "And I'll take Cassandra with me and make it seemed we come to visit." Nobody would suspect a thing, would they? Although she hasn't been away home for long, it would be seen as the princess was eagerly homesick. Nobody would question that.

"No." His mother rejected the idea, smiling since she understood what he tried to do. "There must always be a Stark in Winterfell. I will go myself."

"Mother you can't—" As if that were a better decision. His mother going to the lion's den? She had to be mad to suggest that.

"I must." The woman insisted, almost fiercely. When his mother was that stubborn, you couldn't convince her of anything else.

Turning his head away, not liking all of what was happening and panning out, Robb was unsure of how he was supposed to deal with all of this. "I'll send Hallis with his guardsmen to escort you." Rodrik suggested, knowing the safety of his mother was paramount if what she suspected was actually true.

"Too large a party attracts unwanted attention. I will not have the Lannisters know that I am coming." Knowing the measure, she thought clearly on how she wanted this done despite how on the spot the decision was.

"Then let me accompany you at least." Ser Rodrik insisted, "Kingsroad can be a dangerous place for a woman alone."

She really decided to leave, to venture to danger, and Robb couldn't believe it. Even the Maester agreed to this ludicrous plan. "What about Bran?" Robb questioned, his voice holding all his pent up feelings and utter confusion. He was Lord of Winterfell now and all of this was happening under his nose and out of his control.

"I have prayed to the Seven for more than a month." His mother told him, her sad eyes looking steadily into his own. "Bran's life is in their hands now." Though he knew it true, he wanted his mother by Bran's side. That's what Bran needed; _her_. "I want your oaths." She demanded, all of their eyes drawn to hers. "If even part of what I suspect is true, Ned and my girls have ridden into deadly danger, and a word in the wrong ears could mean their lives."

"Lord Eddard is a second father to me," Theon informed her, unwaveringly so. "I do so swear."

"You have my oath," Maester Luwin gave a nod as he tugged at the chain around his neck.

"And mine, my lady." Ser Rodrik consented solemnly.

Now his mother's eyes laid on him, and how could Robb keep this secret? His wife could've been the key of getting the truth squared away and his mother wanted to make this the very first secret in his newly marriage. "And you, Robb?" He wanted to tell her no, that they could go about this way differently. But with the way she was looking at him, pleading with the eyes they shared in color, he couldn't do it. So he gave her a nod, a silent one. One that gave confirmation to this oath.

For now, Robb was going to keep his little brother safe. If there had been one killer then others could be bound to arrive. He put one man in the sickroom day and night, one outside the door, and two at the bottom of the stairs. Not a single person would be allowed to see him without his permission now.

 _ **STEFFON**_

You would think a person would be happy to come back home after being away for a few months. Steffon, however, felt all but numb about it. So what if he was back in King's Landing? He had no happiness, just qualms about returning here. It should've made him pleased to be back in own home, sleeping in his own bed again, able to do all the things he usually did, but it was nothing to him now. Every bit of this castle had secrets upon secrets about his family and they were slowly unravelling now that he was aware of them. All families have secrets, don't they? But were their secrets as lethal as his? Probably. Not every family was a happy one. Not everyone could have a family like the Starks, Steffon supposed.

His newly knight, Mycah, followed him obediently as they walked. The boy was quick to say a yes and seemed to be slowly easing into his new role quite nicely. Since he was so young and should have to do it properly, he would act as page and squire until he was of four and ten. The boy was still young, but Steffon found him promising. Although Mycah's rescue had been for his own personal gain, Steffon was truly glad that there was something good that Mycah was finding in all of this.

"I suppose you know your training won't be easy, Mycah." Making conversation, the redhead boy immediately lifted his head, eyes compliantly meeting his out of politeness.

"I know, my prince." The boy said quietly, "But I am willin'. Trust me, I am."

Whether if it was because his heart was tender or he just liked seeing someone of strong-will, Steffon believed his words. "Seven is the starting age of most pages, but you are eleven, that doesn't give you any slack, you must remember that. You will have to work thrice as hard." He began to explain as they continued to climb up the steps of the Red Keep, "You'll be older than most of your peers, but the lord I assigned you to will treat you well. He will assign you to falconers and huntsmen, he will choose the Maesters that you will learn from."

"Might I ask who the Lord be, my prince?"

"Lord Renfred Rykker." One of the few lords of the Crownlands he happened to get well acquainted with. It was due to Renly that Steffon knew of him and had the chance to meet him, but by asking this favor of him, he knew the Lord of Duskendale would one day come to ask something in return. That was the price that Steffon was willing to pay one day. All favors were met with favors in the South. "He is a good man and will take care of you well. I mind you to beware that he is strict and does not like to repeat himself, not ever. If he tells you something once, best pray you remember it. Other than that, when you're not with him, you will assist the other men of the Kingsguard. My uncle will make sure you carry and clean their armor, take care of their horses, and pack their baggage."

It was a lot, especially for a newly made page, but the Crown Prince had some faith that Mycah could do it. Possibly because the boy had no choice but to now. He was already knighted but he had to go through the process like anyone else if he wanted him perfectly fit for the Kingsguard. People would already accuse Steffon of favoritism by choosing a commoner, he couldn't be soft on him now. "If you're lucky and don't step on anyone's toes, you'll get to go on expeditions and receive swordsmanship by those that find you worthy. You have a lot to learn, Mycah. I apologize you'll have to learn it all so quickly."

"No apologies, my prince. I am all but eager. I always wanted to be a knight, I know the costs."

Smiling, Steffon gave a slow nod. "Good, you'll be sent straight away to Lord Rykker by first light. Tell Arya and your father your goodbyes as you make preparations."

Mycah separated from him, possibly to tell his father of the news and spend time with him as Steffon suggested. Now he was left alone ( aside from Silver at his heels ), he could finally deal with the emptiness the Red Keep that he suddenly felt. Cassandra wasn't here and the first place his feet found himself going was to her room, just to find it neat as the day she left it. Well, she didn't leave it neat. The girl was such a slob, the servants had to fix the place as they always did or else he would've found dresses littering the floor, shoes to trip over, and open books on every desk, table, and whichever surface that they could be laid on.

His eyes looked around, smiling as he did, before walking towards the balcony. Her room faced the ocean, which she loved so much, while he could see Flea Bottom and Dragonpit from his. When she was first given this room when they were five, when their father found it unnatural for them to share their room any longer, she had been so happy that she could see the ocean and the ships after all her crying about how she didn't want to separate. Cassandra was still the same in that regard. She cried about parting with him for her new family, but he was sure that she would be happy about remaining in Winterfell eventually.

"Feels strange to see it empty, doesn't it?" Steffon hadn't moved from his place, his head remained gazing out at the ocean waters while his uncle came ambling through. Jaime leaned against the railing of the balcony as he did, looking out in the distance as well. "I'm going to miss that girl. I suppose I already do."

As much as he didn't want to speak with him, Steffon knew he couldn't just outright ignore him. It would be too suspicious on his part, especially considering now of all times. So he would play the lonely brother, the nephew that needed consolation. Perhaps he might learn something if he did. "You're going to miss her giving you hell?"

"She didn't give me hell all the time." Smiling, he shook his head. "She was the one good distraction I had from watching that father of yours like a wet-nurse watches a babe."

"I thought my mother was the better distraction in your regards." The quip left him before it was too late to change it or take it back. Luckily for him, Jaime didn't understand the double meaning.

"I can't rely on your mother all the time, now can I?" Setting his jaw, Steffon eyed his uncle vehemently from the corner of his eyes. "Your mother tells me you've been quite the ass to her as of late." He nearly forgotten just how close they once were. How he could be honest with his uncle, never holding back what he wanted to say. And now? Now he couldn't be a blatantly honest as he used to anymore. "Is it because you miss, Cassie? Is that why you saved that little swine-bathed boy? All in efforts to spite your mother? I believe she overreacted about the whole thing too, but going against her isn't very much like you, nephew."

With a snort, he pushed himself away from the railing and turned to his uncle, forcing himself to smile. "Really? I didn't notice I was behaving that way." Why was his mother and uncle watching him as of late? Neither one could be onto his motives, his intentions, so why were they studying him? Was he behaving that suspiciously or maybe their own paranoia of not getting caught on so many levels was making them watch everyone so closely nowadays? "I miss my sister, dearly, but that's not the reason why I saved the butcher's boy, Uncle. I'm just against putting a blade to a child is all."

 _'Unlike you, who could push a boy from a tower. Murderer.'_ Was what he spat in his mind. _'Kingslayer? Childslayer should be said all the same.'_ To think he once thought his uncle was deserving of such a title? He should've been given far worse names. "When did you get so soft of heart for children, Steff? I've never seen you so…" Jaime paused, brow quirked and head tilted, " _passionate_ about life."

"Since I became an older brother." Once before, he thought of what if someone did to Tommen what they had done to Bran. He seethed at the thought. Honestly, if someone dared to push Joffrey like that, Steffon would still be as fiercely protective and righteously angry. No matter how shaky things were between Steff and Joff, he would never allow someone to hurt him. He still felt some pangs of guilt over what transpired at the Trident. Now that the high of vengeance was cooling down, he found himself not liking the route he had taken.

Their father once beat Joffrey before because he cut open a kitchen cat that had a swollen belly filled with kittens. Their king father tried to beat the sense into him and it was Steffon who shielded him while their mother begged for Robert to stop. Steffon could remember Joffrey's cries and how he trembled in his hold, how Joffrey held him to be his shield and to protect them. Back then Steffon had felt the brunt of their father's anger, the slaps and screams whenever he had done something wrong just by a slip. Steffon loved his father and still did, but even he knew that all of what he would do wasn't right.

"I became like that too when Tyrion was born." He heard his uncle say as he pulled himself out of flashes of the past in his mind's eye. Steffon raised his eyes to look at his uncle, who seemed to be going back to those times as well. "Your mother wished he would die ever since he was brought into this world, but everything in me wanted to protect him. Even now, both of us grown, I still want to protect my baby brother."

That was the last thing he wanted to hear; humanity in someone he wanted to hate. Something good out of the mouth of someone who was deceiving and committing wrongs. Steffon was well aware of the close relationship that his uncles had and he had always admired such a thing since he wished the same could be said between him and Joffrey. At least his relationship with Tommen was still good. Hopefully, he could still protect Tommen from this world and all the cruel people as well as dangers within it.

Turning away from him, Steffon looked back out at the horizon. This conversation still didn't temper the anger in him or the impulsive actions quickening in his head.

 _ **NED**_

The council meeting brought him no pleasure down from the company and to the state of the South. All he had learned had made his head ache and kept his mind busy when it should've been in sound rest once he was far away. Even when he was rid of Renly, Varys, Littlefinger and Pycelle, he felt their presence stuck to his clothes like an awful stench. They were silhouetting all around him in such a vulgar kind of way. Just to think he would have to deal with them for long had him sighing so heavily that he thought his lungs might collapse from all the air that left him.

Last he heard of the King was that he rode through the city with Ser Barristan riding beside him. What surprised him was that Steffon decided to skip out on such an important appearance, knowing very well the Crown Prince should've shown his face to the people. _His people_. He noticed the boy wasn't himself or at least the self he seen him to be for the short time they spent on the road together. The boy was quiet more often than not and always walking somewhere with a purpose. Even now, he couldn't find the boy where he need be. Ned couldn't help but to find the boy's sudden disappearances suspicious.

Knowing that looking and finding what the boy took himself busy of should've been his priority, he instead met with the boy by chance. By stroke of luck, he saw the golden-haired Stag speaking to a cloaked man. "Thank you for retrieving this for me." And with a pouch with gold pieces surely within it, he dropped it in the palm of the man's hand and unrolled the parchment to read its contents. Normally, Ned would've dismissed for a letter that he had no business knowing the contents, but with the way the boy had been sly as of late, he was unsure if he could simply ignore it all.

As if he knew he was being watched, Steffon turned to face him and gave him a small smile. He did not look startled and nor did he seem displeased. He looked as if he had nothing to hide and for that, Ned let his suspicions die for a moment. "Did you just leave your very first council meeting, Lord Stark? Tell me, what is it all that you dreamed?"

With a titter, Ned crossed his arms. "How well do you know what is going on under your father's rule, my prince?"

"I know well enough." He replied in aloof, rolling the letter back at up. "I know my father likes to spend coins than count them. I know he's probably plotting to hold a tourney for you, he loves them. Tourney for the Hand? It's really for him, not for you. I know that Littlefinger and the Spider love their runarounds and false courtesies. I know my Uncle Renly makes a joke and jibe out of everything and to everyone. Oh, did the Maester fall asleep? He did, didn't he? He does that _quite_ a lot."

The sarcasm might have been as visible as the sun, but the truth shone brighter. The Crown Prince was not ignorant of his father's folly. At least Ned didn't have the groom the boy to know what was wrong and right in that part of court. "You know all of this and didn't wish to warn me?" He wasn't angry, he just wondered why the boy kept it all to himself. Steffon was good, he reasoned. He was sure the boy would at least warn him of this catastrophe.

"I wanted you to see how much chaos is really here and assess it for yourself." Understanding his point, the Lord of Winterfell gave an nod. "Also, would you have believed me? You wouldn't think my father would be that reckless, now would you?" Another good point. Robert was hardly the man he remembered or the king he hoped he would be. "I could give you advice now if you'd like."

"And what advice would that be, Prince Steffon?" The smile that had remained on his face faltered and his brows bowed to show his seriousness. In a matter of minutes, the boy transformed, just like he had several shades in the pavilion in the defense of Arya.

"You trust no one, especially not Baelish. That man is a snake in the form of a man." He thought he was going to hear something more sinister about Varys, by his surprise. "He only works for what is best for him. Believes me when I say this Lord Stark: watch him, play his duel of words and games, but do not lower the sword. _Never_ lower the sword and keep it at his neck."

Just what had Littlefinger done to provoke such distrust in the Crown Prince? You would think Petyr would try his best to remain on the boy's best side since he was the future king. "I believe you were made aware that my Uncle Stannis is not here? I just received word from him that he wants me to come to see him in Dragonstone."

Odd. It was truly odd that Stannis wanted his nephew to travel to see him and it was obviously because he did not trust any words to be carried by a raven. Just what could Stannis want his nephew to know after he fled like this? Why did Stannis flee in the first place?

"Hopefully Arya gets to spend time with her friend before he goes to Duskendale." Steffon quickly informed him, satiating his curiosity as to what the butcher's boy was currently doing. "I might be away for a month or so but when I come back, I hope to see you haven't fall into the pit of our good ol' Southern chaos, Lord Stark."

And with that, the prince had left and Ned wondered just what was going on. Everyone was having a hidden agenda, cryptic messages, and he felt like he was in a sea of vipers. Just what the hell was going on in King's Landing?

 _ **CASSANDRA**_

Something was… off.

The way Robb looked at her now was not the same it was before. In fact, he had been quite distant from her as of late and she found it most troubling. Since the day they had met, he had been the one to initiate everything, whether it be for them to spend time together or just simply speaking. Now he did nothing, said not one word or even took a chance to glance her way. This all began ever since his mother had woken from her medicine induced slumber that Cassandra discovered a day ago.

The day after she left Robb in the Godswood to speak to the Maester alone, he told her the very next day what became of her goodmother. He informed her of the wounds the woman suffered through were deep, near the bone, to the point he made her drink Milk of the Poppy and had her sleep in peace while he tended to her. She was completely free of feeling the pain in her fingers. It made sense and it worried her some, but he continued to instill that the woman was fine and did not need her fretting. Cassandra didn't have a clue how to approach the woman when she would wake. In fact, when she did awake, Cassandra wasn't even told right away. Josselyn had come to tell her that Lady Catelyn wished to see the Maester, Ser Rodrik, Theon, and Robb in the Godswood during the day she left Robb and Luwin. Cassandra couldn't help but to find that… unsettling.

That's when Robb changed.

It all could've been in her head. That was a possibility and yet she didn't think she was just fabricating all of this. What could've happened in that meeting to make him so similar to stories of Winter nights? Cold and making the heart feel lonely, longing for some proper warmth, even if it was just a flickering and single flame. In her days here, Cassandra could compare Robb to one of the brightest things in her current life and that's why she tended to shun him. He was blinding in that kind of way and now she was longing to be bathed in his presence, even if it was just for a short while. It could've been her own childish arrogance of not liking to be ignored as well. Even she, herself, found how moody she was annoying at times.

Rickon still came around with Shaggydog at his heels during his visits. Shaggydog was quite the hostile thing, but she was sure the direwolf was growing used to her presence by now. It still didn't mean Ryia and Shaggy got along, the two often seized another up and Rickon tried to placate his companion and she had done the same with hers. The intensity in their meetings, like lions and wolves, was starting remind her of her own family against the Starks.

Wondering if Robb would return late into the night again, she made herself a cup of tea to enjoy and keep herself awake for a few more hours. Instead of just worrying about the distance between her and her husband, she knew it would be wiser to try to ask him about it. Robb was always kind to her before, offering explanations here and there, so why not now? Why should she be so fearful to question his moods? What was she truly afraid that he would tell her?

An hour or so she guessed passed, leaving her sinking into the bed and fighting against the boredom of the quiet room. Here she was, lying in bed alone, with Ryia chewing at the steak bone she left meatless hours ago. The lion was quite content in her own bed, not caring that Robb or Grey Wind had come when they should have. Perhaps the animal had the right idea of not caring, just having "they'll come when they come" kind of attitude.

"Ryia." The lioness paused mid bite upon hearing her name and raised her head to look up at her master. Cassandra patted the empty space to her left, allowing the lion to lay herself atop of the furs beside her. Placing the bone down on her cot, she did as her master wanted and laid down next to her side. At least she could cure some of her boredom by petting the soft, pristine fur of the lion while she waited for Robb's return. "I bet he doesn't think I'm sleep yet. He's probably not going to show up until midnight." Talking to herself or talking to Ryia? Cassandra had no clue. "What is his problem anyway? What did I do to deserve to be ignored?"

The Hrakkar purred under touch, enjoying the mindless scratching of her fingers, and not really listening to her. She could feel soft paws, padding against her arm as the lion rolled on its back and tried to lick her limb. "Why should I care anyway? I've done the same to him too, haven't I? I've avoided him constantly, for days…" Frowning, her hands stop mid petting as her shoulders drooped. "Is this how he felt? Would he wait for me just to see I… I didn't care if he did or not?"

 _'I'm a terrible wife.'_ The sudden thought came to her, her frown growing deeper and the guilt blossoming strongly. _'It's not like I wanted to be his wife anyway, but I could at least been a bit kinder… Couldn't I?'_

The door suddenly opened, yanking her from her thoughts due to how startled she was. Robb strode in, eyes drooping and shoulders slacked. He seemed so tired and unlikely to even begin to want a conversation. Ryia sat up to see Grey Wind following after him, Robb shut the door once the wolf was in and immediately began to rid himself of his cloak.

The silence was uncomfortable. The room was empty of conversation and the only sounds were the sounds of his straps unloosening and the lazy thump of him piling his clothes on the nearby chair. It was like he didn't have the energy to properly his clothes away, which was odd since Robb was neater than she could ever be. Ryia jumped down, walking to sniff Grey Wind just to find the wolf eyeing her as she circled him. At least he hadn't changed, not like Robb had in this short span of time.

"Your duties have kept you busy?" Small talk was what it was, at least it was a start. She could try to begin with this or just wait until tomorrow to ask him about his curious behavior towards her as of late.

"Yes, my lady." Her brows instantly furrowed at how monotone he sounded, like he didn't even want to speak. My lady? Robb never said that to her before. It was also her first name or wife. Never my lady. With a tunic and loose pair of sleeping trousers, he climbed into bed and laid down with his back turned towards her with the blankets and furs brought to his chin. Now she knew she wasn't imagining all of this. This wasn't just something her mind was conjuring, this was entirely real.

Clenching her fists, Cassandra sunk her teeth into her bottom lip as she contemplated on whether she should pursue this tonight or not. She wanted to, she prepared herself to, but he seemed so tired, like he didn't want to be bothered. "Robb." His name spilled from her lips without another thought coming across her mind. Before she could count that he might've been tired from his newly lord's day work, she already decided not to mind his current mood.

"Yes?" He answered her, still turned away, but obviously informing her that he was listening.

"How is your lady mother?" Her eyes observed the way he seemed much more still upon her question. "I was not informed she had awoken. Is there something wrong?" Perhaps his mother was the root of all of this.

Her husband did not utter another word, just staying still. Her patience was wearing thin and she had half a mind to yank him to face her. "Does that trouble you?"

Confused by his question and annoyed he was giving her a runaround, she tried to keep herself civil as possible. "She is my goodmother, she nearly had her life taken from her, of course her I am troubled that I was not made aware she is awake."

Slowly, he made himself sit up and turned himself to look at her, his blue eyes scanning all over her face. Why was he looking at her like that? With suspicion? It aggravated her and left her muddled. "Tell me…when the fire happened, did you really not sense anything amiss?" They hadn't spoken of the fire since it happened and now he was curious about it?

"I didn't." Cassandra slowly raised a brow, alarmed by what the meaning of this topic meant. "I thought I was by myself when Josselyn left me. When I went to close the door, that vile man upon accident pushed a book out of its shelf. That's how I realized he was there and we fought… and then he locked me in after pushing the candle to start the fire. Why are you asking me about this?"

His eyes were still searching all over face and she still was unsure why. Usually such a transfixed gaze from him would leave her feeling flustered and yet now there was something… something accusing about it. Did he…? Did he think she was lying to him? Why would she lie and nearly have herself killed? Burned alive for that matter; one the worse deaths a person could ever go through and so willingly? What was he thinking? Was he thinking about this the whole time he spent his time away from her? Did his mother actually plant that seed in his head?

Question after question came swirling, so much that she was bound to get a headache if left to continue. She didn't want to believe that he would actually think so lowly of her. She even found herself saddened by the fact that he would question her like this. As soon as she was letting Robb in, one step at a time, she found that she should've kept the door closed and locked.

"I'm not saying I don't trust you, Cassandra." As if he read her mind, he said that and now she was beginning to believe all she was thinking was being confirmed true. "I just think… It just seems…" Her lord husband could barely get a sentence out, his eyes finally giving themselves a break from their intense stare-off from her face to look absently down at the blanket. "I don't want to think you're like them…."

"Like who?" Squaring her jaw, Cassandra bowed her brows as she awaited his answer.

"Like your family." That struck her, hard. What nerve did he have to say that? Why was he bashing her family right before her very face? The Lannisters and Starks, she knew, weren't great friends, but for him to say this? To insult her family? That enraged her.

"And what is that supposed to mean, Robb?! What is so wrong with my family that you dare say that to my face?!" It was hard, to keep her voice leveled, but she was downright offended. How dare he say that? Her family might have not been perfect, but they were _hers_ and she'd rather bite the throat off in the likeness of Summer of anyone that dared to speak ill of them. Words were just as heavy and powerful as the sword; they had impact, they could damn an entire reputation.

Not a trace of him looked as if he was going to take what he said back. Instead, he looked as if he stood completely behind what he told her. "I think it's quite clear that it was someone in your family that pushed my little brother from the tower and then they sent that bastard to come finish the job."

Stunned, her eyes widened as her lips pried apart in her state of shock. Bran's fall had been accidental; the boy loved to climb and he slipped, she was told that. Why would her family want to harm a little boy? Why in Seven hells would he think that? "Are you accusing my family for trying to murder a child?!"

"And if I am? Your uncle, he stayed behind, didn't he? Instead of following his king to the hunt, he stayed behind along with your mother during the time Bran had fallen." Now he was incensed as she was, his once gelid eyes now ablaze as he spoke.

How could she soak all of this in? She was still unsure of why he boldly assumed her family was involved in this. Did Lady Stark assume this as well? Was her family going to be wrongly accused for the terrible fall and near murder of Brandon Stark?

Cassandra did find it strange how her uncle did not accompany her father and brother to the hunt. She wanted to scold him for it. She even told Robb how much she had disliked it before he left. But her Uncle Jaime, pushing a boy out of a tower to fall to his death? No, she couldn't scarcely fathom that. No, her Uncle Jaime wouldn't do something like that. Why would he harm a little boy? What sense did that make? And her mother would never harm a child, of that Cassandra felt so sure of. Her mother was not that kind of person. Her mother may have been unkind to outsiders, but she would not kill a child.

"You're mad!" The former princess practically yelled, wanting to sink her fist into his face. It was because she could control herself and knew that arguing and fighting wouldn't change anything, she kicked the blankets off the lower half of her body and stood to her feet. The floor was colder than she thought now that she was barefeet, but her anger quickly override that sudden chill of her soles. "You can go rot, Robb Stark! I cannot believe you and your mother would think so lowly of my family and then you look at me like I would kill myself or lay a hand of harm to little Bran! You can most certainly rot!"

All she wanted to do is be far away from him. Perhaps she'd sleep in Sansa or Arya's old room for the time being. Wherever she had went, she wanted to be faraway from Robb Stark, that's for damn sure.

"Cassandra!" His rough hand wrapped itself around her wrist, attempting to keep her fro stomping right out at the door like she was about it. Using all her strength to pull her wrist away from him, she struggled to get herself out of his hold, but his other hand had taken a tight lock to her other wrist.

"Unhand me! Unhand me right now!" If he would not see reason then she could not see it as well. All she wanted was to be far from him and he was stopping her from doing just that. "I _said_ unhand me!"

He didn't listen. Robb only tightened his hold on her wrist, enough to keep her from being unable to make him budge. "I didn't think you were involved in all of this. I want to believe you are innocent, but I can't believe that your family is as well."

Narrowing her eyes, Cassandra gave him a ferocious glare. "You _want_ to believe? You mean you want to believe me innocent and yet you sit here and look at me as if I'm guilty. And then, you assume my family guilty off of such baseless things?! …Is that… Is that why you've been ignoring me all this time? Because you think me and my family are out to harm your little brother?!"

It all made sense why he was keeping his distance. Why wouldn't he if he thought she was some sort of child-killer? Her body was flaring with so much rage that she thought steam might come off her head. Every second she was spending looking at him, listening to him, she wanted scream. "Then what am I to believe, Cassandra? That your family is innocent? That the dagger found on that man's body did not come from someone wealthy? A dagger made with Valyrian steel with a Dragonbone hilt. It couldn't have belonged to the likes of him. Do you not see how condemning such evidence is?"

Valyrian steel and a Dragonbone hilt? Why did that seem so familiar to her? Her eyes absently looked at the corner of the room, her eyes squinting as her mind tried to conjure up when she had heard or seen such a dagger of that description.

She couldn't trace where she heard, seen, or who it could possibly belong to. Shaking her head, she pushed the thought aside. "That doesn't mean my family did it, it easily could've been anyone." The Stark might've made enemies of another family, and perhaps their enemy tried to frame her own? She supposed she couldn't fault him for coming to this conclusion, but that didn't mean she wasn't going to protect her family without a fight.

"Let me speak to your mother then." Still pulling her arms to free herself of his grasp, she found that he still refused to let her go. "I can explain to her if this is what she believes. Let me see the dagger for myself and I promise to tell her the truth."

For a second, she saw his expression falter. Cassandra had thought she baited him and instead, she was given a sigh and froze when his forehead pressed to her own. With her eyes big and staring, she studied his face as he kept his eyes closed, looking quite pained. "I swore to my mother to keep this from you and I broke my oath. I broke my oath to my own mother."

He sounded so defeated, annoyed, and upset with himself. And here she was, forcing herself not to smile at the fact that he had broke an oath to tell her this. Something like this was supposed to be kept from the dark from her and yet her husband trusted her so much to actually tell her the truth against his own will.

"Robb, if my family has anything to do with Bran's fall…" Cassandra still didn't want to believe it. She just couldn't see why any of her family would do this, but if it were true? What was she to do? Would she have to choose between her new family or her own blood? Naturally, she'd choose the family she always knew except she found herself walking a thin line if she wanted to betray Robb or not. For him to be her enemy? It didn't make her happy and nor was it desirable in any shape or form.

She come to like Rickon and his sisters she didn't have much time with. Lord Stark had been nothing but good to her since she knew him and she had wanted to know more of Lady Stark. Would she have to give all of that up? Cassandra should've been happy at the disturbance of this marriage, to be able to flee back to her mother's arms and at her twin's side, but she wasn't happy about that at all.

"Let me see the dagger." If it belonged to not one member of her family then this could all end, wouldn't it? Their speculations only came to be because of the assassin, right? Cassandra could clear her family's name if she could identify the dagger did not belong to her family, but it was the matter if they would believe her or not that was the concern.

With uncertainty in his eyes, Robb exhaled and let her go. He left their bedchamber, hopefully so that she could put an end to all of this. Cassandra closed her eyes, praying to the Seven that this had been nothing but an misunderstanding. If she could prove her family's innocence then then she would have fix this temporary mess with Robb. Even if it meant she would have to stay married to him, she was willing in efforts to protect her mother and uncle, who were the main suspects in all of this this.

Robb returned to her, not alone but with Ser Rodrik that kept the dagger on his person. Her husband kept his head low, almost like he was ashamed to bring the man here. "My lady, I…" Ser Rodrik began, his eyes slewing to the young lord, "I don't think you should put yourself in the middle of this."

"This is my family, Ser Rodrik." The former princess told him sternly, "Whether it has been for a short time or no, the Starks are my family as well. Let me put an end to all of this."

After a short-lived stare off, the older man finally pulled the dagger out from his sword belt and laid it in her hands. She had been so confident, already believing how unfamiliar it was. "This dagger…" Her voice trailed slowly, like her words were unwilling to finish what they were meant to say. Her eyes looked closely and her mind was sent reeling, unable to comprehend or process the images that kept flashing in her mind. This dagger…

The sadness came in waves, right after the shock. Her green eyes tried their best not to be the size of the golden shields she watched her Lannister family's army wield. This dagger had belong to none other than her father. She remembered this, she remembered this because she was right there during that tourney for Joffrey's birthday and watched her father and Littlefinger bet against her Uncle Jaime. This dagger was the prize and her father had won by the stroke of luck and bragged about it for days.

Of course, Cassandra knew for certain that her father would never send anyone to kill a little boy, especially not Ned Stark's boy. Her father was off in the Wolfswood during the hunt while it happened, Bran's fall that is, but how could this dagger end up in another's hands? He was framed or someone was simply using it to frame her Lannister family. That was the only thing that made much sense to her at least. Swallowing thickly, she wondered if she should keep this to herself or actually tell the truth. Robb and Ser Rodrik were waiting, eyes unable to tear away from her until she gave them an answer, and now she wished she didn't push the issue.


	9. Chapter Eight: The Trail He Left Behind

**Author's Note** : This chapter is waaaaaaaaaay longer than I intended.

Loves to read books: Wow, I never knew that. The more you know. I guess it is a bit fitting in this time-period since everyone was discovering the potential of everything or it would be funnier to think that the healer was like "eat your veggies, kid". Lol.

HopelessRomantic44: You finally get to see what she says!

Lelleg: That would've been a great twist, honestly.

ImpSlapFury: I can't say for Ned, but Robb? That's a different story, I can say that. Anything I say can be a spoiler at this point.

kill3rdarren: I try, I try to be lengthy. Sometimes I don't know how I do it. I really don't. I see a lot of people agree with her, she is an interesting choice. I'm surprise you're giving Joffrey that much credit, but that could be possible! Still, I don't think many people would back him at this point. Steffon hasn't necessarily gave him ammunition... yet. Everybody loves Ned. Oh, and I loved the idea of Arya being a squire! That would be amazing, but I doubt Ned could ever approve of that, especially with how crazy things get down in the South. Those "dancing" lessons were a shock enough, you can tell he thinks this is all just a phase she's going through.

* * *

 _ **STEFFON**_

His bones were so weary, the constant travel left him unimaginably tired. Considering that he spent months back and forth down Kingsroad, he shouldn't have been so eager to go see his uncle, but he was. Whatever Stannis has learned must've been crucial and something that not just anyone should know. Certainly, if it was paramount to make him bolt back to this fortified home of his then Steffon needed to know of it. He wished he could've spent a little more time back in King's Landing though, just to see how Ned Stark was going to adjust to things. The man needed some help understanding the ways of the royal court seeing as he might melt before Autumn came.

Although tired, Steffon knew his uncle would not want him drowsy. Stannis was his uncle and they had an amity despite how most people seem to loathe his prudence. The man was rightly strict but fair, which was one of the admirable things about him. Perhaps his own sense of justice stemmed from the way his uncle was. If Steffon wanted to even be in his presence, however, he had to stand tall and be alert, his uncle would not any accept less. Even if he did poke and prod the man's patience with his sarcasm and desperate need to make the air lighter, he still had to put on airs of a "proper prince".

What he knew most of all was that he was going to get flack for not telling his mother that he had left King's Landing. Steffon left it up to his father to break the news to her that he would be temporarily in the Stormlands, much to her dismay. She would know better that he was not at Storm's End since Renly hardly left King's Landing for too long, so she was sure to easily pick up he went to Dragonstone. How would his mother feel upon the news? On the edge, he hoped. Surely whatever his uncle knew had to do with her. It just had to.

Blackwater Bay smelled much better the farther you went from King's Landing considering how foul his home smelled. When he was king, Steffon was more than set to do a massive clean up to make sure his home was beautiful as well as clean. Who wants to be the king of Westeros and reside in a dirty, smelly city? Not Steffon. His father didn't care about the stench or how littered the streets were and he doubted King Aerys before him cared about it either. Oldtown was much more beautiful and its air was so crisp that you could taste the sea breeze and not blanch. You would've thought it a home to a king, but sadly it wasn't. Steffon oft found himself jealous of how lovely Oldtown was and now he had to rebuild King's Landing to be much greater.

It only took a few hours to reach the small island of Dragonstone. He was flanked with servants as he reached the last step of the gangplank, immediately ready to tend to him but he dismissed them with a wave of his hand. "I am in no need of your services." He told them kindly, presenting a smile to those who were only doing their duties. The servants rather liked him, more than they liked his Uncle Renly. Steffon barely gave them work while his uncle had them shucking like fools over the stupidest of tasks when he rarely made himself to come here. Rare as his presence may be here, he always gave a ruckus.

He was led inside and made to follow one of his uncle's trusted guards. If he could remember correctly, the man was named Holden. The only reason why Steffon remembered his name was because the guard had always been qutie soft to his sister. When Cassandra came with him to Dragonstone when they were young, Holden endured her overbearing young mind filled with questions and dealt with her with patience. In fact, Steffon knew the man liked that someone looked to him as if he knew everything.

It was strange that out of all places they could speak, he was being led to Aegon's Garden. His uncle was not a man that held value of nature and yet the place had been kept in tip-top shape as if he cared for every berry and sprout that had grown. Whether it was for sweet Shireen or appearances, the boy hardly knew. And to see his uncle, with his stance filled with authority, looking out at the distance with his back turned had looked so strange to him. This was not the kind of setting Steffon thought this would all come down to. He thought it would be much more darker or perhaps, his own childish giddiness about being in the Chamber of the Painted Table was making his judgement so shotty.

"Nice weather we're having." His eyes roamed around the garden as his uncle slowly turned to face him, his face stern as always. "What? You wanted to talk outside in a garden, I thought the weather might be the perfect greeting."

Not a smile or a laugh. He expected that much. "I didn't think you'd arrive so soon, nephew. I thought for sure the days travel would've left you too weak."

"I'm a boy of seven and ten, Uncle. I have more energy than you and my father, you know." Crossing his arms, he leaned against a nearby oak tree since it was the closest thing for support. There was no bench nearby for him to sit on, so he figured this will do. "And the reason why we're in the garden?"

Before he could receive the answer, he heard what sounded like boots running against the stone-made walkway. Not a second given for his head to turn, a small body wrapped around his leg. "Steffon, you're here!"

Shireen. His little cousin. She had grown much taller than he saw her last. Eagerly, he lifted the girl in his arms and brought her in for a proper hug, feeling those skinny arms of hers wrap themselves around his neck. "Who told you to grow while I was away? You're supposed to stay a little girl."

She laughed in his ear, pulling back just a little so he could see her face. No matter the feel of greyscale or the sight of it, Steffon still thought her beautiful. Even if she did not hold the description of what it meant to be a beauty in Westeros, it was her smile that could outmatch any of the roses in the gardens of the world. It was her smile that had drawn Steffon in and never seem to let him go. Who knows what the future held for her anyway? She could be striking, even with that black and grey patch on her cheek and neck. A person could one day overlook the battle scar of a disease that usually took so many. Shireen was strong as an infant than most were as men, who would not find the allure in that? "I can't stop myself from growing, Steffon. Besides, you get taller every time I see you. You're a giant now."

"I think I'm taller than your father now." Both of them looked to Stannis, who rose a brow at such an observation. He did not smile, at least it wasn't on his lips. As much as his uncle despised showing much emotion, you could see it flash across his eyes every once in a blue moon. "Think I can beat your scary dad now that I am so tall?"

"No." Shireen shook her head, confident in her answer. "Nobody can beat my father."

Natural, he knew, for a girl to be on the side of her father. Steffon pretended to be wounded by her words, closing his eyes and sniffling. "I guess I'll just have to grow even taller."

"Do that and you won't fit through any doors." After a few more minutes of playful banter, he let her down on her feet like she had been the most fragile thing in the world. She looked as if she had more to say but with one look from her father, she knew better than to proceed. "Will you be staying for supper, Steffon?"

"If your father isn't so eager to kick me out, I'll stay for the month. I'm in no rush to go back home, especially now that I've seen you." Her lips curled into a smile as she lowered her head, pushing back some of her hair before meeting his eyes again. "I'll be in my room then. Mother wasn't too happy about letting me out but father knew you'd want to see me."

Her mother, huh? The woman was an odd one and Steffon usually kept his distance. He gave the woman pleasant greetings, smiles and all the courtesy a boy should bare for the wife of his blood, but he was always so quick to find distance and keep it. He wasn't sure what was really wrong with his aunt and he wasn't all too eager to find out.

"I'll always want to see you, Shireen. You can count on that." The little lady beamed at his words before bowing politely to her father and spinning on her little heels. The girl went running, her hair bouncing as she did, and he felt that little light she brought to him suddenly go away with her. How could such a sweet girl be born out of Stannis and Selyse? Steffon had no idea. Turning to his uncle, he gave a bow of his head. "No more distractions, I'm ready to listen."

Pleased, Stannis brought his hands behind him with one hand holding the other's wrist. "Before Lord Arryn's untimely death," He began, bringing a shiver down Steffon's spine almost immediately. Part of him at least hoped his mother nor his uncle had killed that man right under his nose. A trail of bodies was bound to be at their footsteps by Autumn and how enraged would he be to know a man he saw as a grandfather was brought to an end over a petty secret? "He and I went to a few places in Flea Bottom."

Startled, he wasn't prepared for a servant to come shuffling towards him with a small piece of parchment in their hands. The blond-haired prince took it without question, looking down with what looked to be like written locations. "He and I went to these places exactly."

Just what was important to have Lord Arryn and his Uncle Stannis so curious to see these places for themselves? His blue eyes looked to his uncle with question, but he was afraid that his uncle would not give him too many answers. This might have to be something he would have to personally investigate.

"You won't be surprised of all of what you'll find." Quirking a brow, Steffon pondered his words. Why wouldn't he be surprised? "It is what it all adds up to that will, my nephew." For a second, he thought that his stony uncle was being apologetic? No, not apologetic, empathetic. That he felt a shred of sorry about what was to happen at the end of all this. Steffon slowly made his eyes look back at the paper, his hands nearly trembling in apprehensiveness.

In all efforts to gather himself, to stop the spinning of thoughts and the shakiness of his hand, he decided to fix his mind elsewhere. There was another idea that he wanted to approach his uncle about, and he wanted to see if it was a well-thought plan. Who better than his uncle? The man might've been just Master of Ships, but he could trust his judgement on this matter. "There's something else I want you to help me with and it must be done quietly." Stannis looked at him from the corner of his eyes, a brow slowly raising in obvious curiosity. "I want some of your best sailors and a man you trust to speak with foreign cities."

"And why is that, nephew? This is a tall order." He knew it so, but if there was anyone could trust with this, it was his uncle. And once the man knew the reason, Steffon was sure it would be wholeheartedly supported.

"I am aware of the massive amount of debt my father owes to the Lannisters, my grandfather especially." Slipping the paper into the pocket of his breeches, the Crown Prince folded his arms as he tilted his head back to look at the rather cloudy sky. "And I want that to end."

"And you're proposing that we build a relationship with Myr for gold?" It disappointed him, just a bit, because he wanted to reveal that information himself. His uncle was just too cunning for him to get the full satisfaction of revealing this plan and he had to settle for telling Stannis that he was right.

"Correct." He said plainly, trying to hide his childish disappointment. "Who else better to benefit from?

From his peripherals, he thought he caught a smile on his uncle's face. It was because he blinked that he wasn't sure if he was imagining that or not, "And what will you give them in return?"

"Our hand. I've heard whispers that a war was brewing over there between Lys and Tyrosh, but these are just rumors. Who is to say they won't turn on Myr or even want Myr's help in order to fight the other? I could give Myr men if they needed them and that's more than they could want from us. Whoever they support could become useful as well, don't you think?"

A silence came and Steffon suddenly became nervous, unsure of what this quiet meant. Swallowing the lump in his throat, his arms uncrossed and lifelessly fell to his side. What if this was just a stupid idea? Was his uncle about to give him a lengthy explanation of how he was thinking too simply or not enough? Before he could say he wanted to take it back, Stannis replied.

"You're thinking like a king, nephew." Those words moved him, making his pride increase ten fold for what he wanted to save his kingdom. If he were to be king one day and for some reason, he surely thought his grandfather to outlive his father, he did not want to be a slave to Tywin's thumb. Steffon loved his grandfather, but he would not be anyone's puppet. Whoever ruled the treasury both in debt and duty had ruled the kingdom. The treasury needed to belong to a king again. It needed to be his. He must worry about the coins and stack them than to let a room that should be spilling with gold upon gold remain so empty. "I'll see what I can do. Until then, take a rest. You've had a long travel from Winterfell to here, you deserve that much."

 _ **CASSANDRA**_

Her eyes swung back and forth like a pendulum, watching how Catelyn Stark was staring at her son so intensely. You would've thought the boy would've froze into a block of ice just from her stare alone. Now she was forced to stand in the Godswood with Theon, Maester Luwin, Ser Rodrik, and Robb. Since they were the ones who made the oath ,right here in this very place, they were the ones to deal with _why_ the oath had been broken.

It was never her intention to get Robb into trouble. Now she had to stand there and watch him be silently berated from breaking his mother's trust. He chose her, the wife he barely knew, over his own mother and while Cassandra knew how much of a big deal it was, she was only glad that it led her to the truth. That she had now found some way from letting this all escalate further. Who knows what could've came out of this. A war? No, her father still lived and would never war against the Starks.

"You said you wouldn't answer until you were before me." Lady Stark finally turned her attention to her, hands laced and back straight in all her Riverlands poise. "Now tell me who the dagger belongs to."

She usually spoke so warmly. Right now, however, Cassandra hardly knew who this woman was that stood before her. A distressed mother; a woman had been through a terrible month and week. A woman who had just about lost all her patience. "It belongs to my father." Seeing as the king had no connections to Bran's fall as well as his attempted murder, Cassandra thought it simple to at least speak that truth. "My father was made a sword when he first became king and the dagger was accompanied with it naturally. He usually keeps it in the armory since it is so valuable, but it was obviously stolen. My father doesn't carry daggers, he calls them a thief's hand. My father fights with a hammer, never a sword."

Her green eyes watched them digest her words. The Maester fiddled with his chain, eyes low as he seemed to be in thought before flicking his gaze back to Lady Stark. She seemed to be considering it for the most part, "And you have no idea who could have stolen it?"

Cassandra shook her head, "No," she herself was still pondering who could have, "I did not know it was stolen in the first place. It has never left the armory save for a time my father used it to bet against my Uncle Jaime during a tourney, who was up against the Knight of Flowers and was unhorsed. He had bet with Lord Baelish and won. He bragged about it for days since my father is simply terrible at winning bets."

"Could your uncle have stolen it?" Ser Rodrik questioned, she assumed that this would be asked.

"Never." Finding her confidence, she straightened herself and kept her expression free of any questionable twitch or aversion of gaze. "When would he have the time? My uncle is much more diligent in King's Landing than he ever was here. I suppose he thought he had some freedom in the North since who would dare bring the king harm in such a place? I was unhappy about him staying here, I even spoke of it to my husband as I saw him off to the hunt."

Her eyes slew to Theon, knowing that Robb's confirmation wouldn't be enough. The Greyjoy halfway frowned, sighing as he crossed his arms. "She did. I remember."

Should she defend her mother? Would they bother to ask how Cersei Lannister found her way to the armory and nobody questioned it? Cassandra didn't think they would and she was relieved to hear her mother had not been mentioned. "And the Imp…" Lady Stark muttered, making the young girl frown. Imp? How could she call her uncle that in front of her? Small as he may be, it was not by choice and even if it was, he was still a person. Imp was an insult.

"Dwarven I believed it is called, goodmother." It took everything in her not correct her so vehemently, but the flare was there in her eyes. "My Uncle Tyrion could buy a thousand daggers of his own, why take my father's? The two actually get along reasonably, at most times, and stealing for him is like a death sentence. I do doubt with all my being that my uncle would even begin to think of maiming a boy seeing as he was with your lord husband as well as my father during the hunt. It might come as a surprise to you all, but he is quite soft at heart to children despite his… reputation." Considering how colorful her uncle's daily life was, she could see how hard it was to come to his defense. It seemed like most of the men in her family liked to whore on an everyday basis save for a good few, "My uncle is also intelligent, renownedly so. He wouldn't be so stupid. Whoever did this was cruel _and_ stupid."

Who could it be now? Joffrey was at the hunt as well along with her father. Joffrey might've had such a scary streak, but throwing Bran off a tower seemed like the unnecessary extreme for him. Unless, however, the boy did something to get him so irate. Maybe that wasn't too hard to believe actually. Steffon being involved didn't cross her mind not once. Tommen and Myrcella? There was no way those two were even capable of such things. Her family was in the clear as she fought it to be. As she _knew_ them to be. There was no reason for anyone to suggest they would harm Bran and send a man to kill him.

"And how am I to know you're telling the truth?" Cassandra hadn't thought of that. She had no proof whatsoever. What evidence could she give? She only had words and one witness over such a small, insignificant portion.

"You don't know, my goodmother." It was a simple answer and the only one she had. "You could either take my word or not take it. I am no liar; I have a clean name. I care for this family because it is mine now. My blood, however, is still very important to me. If I had reason to believe they had done something so… so horrifying, I would condemn it…openly."

The nod was subtle as the woman slowly smiled. "I see." Was all she said, not giving her any indication if she believed this or not. Even though it was the truth, Cassandra couldn't help but to feel that maybe the woman didn't believe her. If that was the case then what would happen? All she could was watch the Tully-Stark leave her, letting her stand in the Godswood with Theon, Ser Rodrik, and the Maester trailing behind shortly after her. Robb had stayed, giving her some solace that she had not been abandoned or deemed an enemy.

"You could've lied." His words surprised her, leaving her brows raised at what he actually suggested. "But you didn't…" Out of them all, Robb believed her. She knew that for a fact. He stood there, smiling and his eyes giving her no signs that he thought her a liar in efforts to save her family's own skin.

Her heart felt like it was swelling with happiness or was it relief? She was unsure. What made her happy and relieved now wasn't that she tried her damndest to protect her family, but that there was someone on her side, Robb most of all. "Will you regret this?" She found herself asking him, a little afraid to hear his answer.

Briefly, he turned his head away and looked out into the woods of this serene place of worship. His lips formed a smile, his head shaking every so slightly. "No." He sounded honest, like he truly believed that.

Extending her arm, she took hold of Robb's leather, gloved hand. She could feel the warmth seeping through the material, easing the chill that prickled all over hers. Robb was like that, like a warm blanket to shield you from the cold. All he had ever done these past few days was protect her, even at the cost to anger her. Now she owed him that same kindness. Whether it be from himself, his own mother or her very own, who planned to see him as some sort of piece for her daughter to manipulate should she have need of it.

This minuscule piece of affection, small compared to all he had done for her, would cement that promise. He might have not known it, he might've thought this was her just being grateful. Robb Stark had done something she didn't want and that was leave a mark on her that couldn't be easily washed away. Whatever this feeling was that was hazing over her heart and mind, it was something she will safeguard until her days were exhausted.

 _ **CERSEI**_

"What do you mean Steffon has gone to Dragonstone?" Why did Steffon not personally inform her? Why did it take her drunkard husband to tell her this? Her eyes nearly turned to slits, her ire rising like the fanning of flames. How could he just run off and not tell her? Anything could have happened to him and she would have not been made aware. He was the Crown Prince, but her son most of all. He had to be protected at all costs.

"As I damn well said it, woman. He went to Dragonstone and told me to tell you he did." Robert hated repeated himself, especially to her. The fool didn't realize her hearing be so perfect, she was mainly questioning herself than she was acting unsure of what he meant. "Don't know why he wants to see Stannis so much anyway." Even Robert questioned that, which had seem so unlike him. Their eldest boy could do no wrong in his eyes and yet his sudden rush to see that bore and prudish Baratheon made the both of them curious.

Wringing her hands, Cersei tried to think of what would be so important for the boy to see his uncle. Did Stannis request it? Possibly. The two of them got along rather well considering their personalities were so vastly different. Steffon was a lively boy, a personality that was unlike hers because he enjoyed being social. Cersei lost that feeling long ago when her only good friend had to die when she was younger.

"Have you…" The queen's ears perked upon her husband's voice, she had half a mind to ignore him, but something willed her to listen. "Have you heard anything from Cassie?"

He missed her. Cersei presumed he would. She was their first girl, given to them at the same time as their first boy. They had known her for seventeen years and now she was suddenly gone, ripped from them. It was all his doing, so she hoped the pain was far more worse. It could've been worse than how she felt though. A piece of her felt like it was missing, like her heart wasn't all the way full. "No I haven't, my love." She told him quietly. "Send her a raven as I will when you are ready."

Robert was not a fan of letters, she knew. He'd rather get it all out in the open, but that could not be done. Their daughter was miles away in a frigid wasteland filled with barbarians. He did that. He did that because of his obsession with the Starks and now he had the audacity to feel pained by it. "I didn't think I'd miss that girl this much."

"She is our daughter." Cersei kept her eyes lowered, halfway closed. "Of course you would."

Unable to keep herself from even daring to stand in his presence any longer, she decided to leave the solar. It was quite startling to know her daughter wouldn't have her own place in the North. They shared a room instead of having their own, meaning Cassandra woke up and went to sleep with Robb Stark beside her. A child was bound to be born at this rate and Cersei knew her daughter was ripe and fertile, but she didn't want to think of her little girl having a little one of their own just yet. Her own vanity didn't want to think she'd be a grandmother any time soon either. She was too young to be one, she reasoned. Her hand still grasping the straws of her beauty, even at the cost of her own family.

The warm hallways of the Red Keep were dimly lit, only letting such a shallow half of the sunlight touch her and the smooth floors. Her heels clicked and soon drowned into nothing in her ears since memories of years ago began to resurface. Almost like past scenes became real, her eyes thought they had seen a little Steffon and Joffrey ripping and running the halls. Their faces held glee, the one where their eyes were squint clothes and their grins were from ear to ear.

A smile began to bloom on her own face and became to completion when Joffrey fell on his wobbly, red knees. Pained only just a little, he grimaced, and tried his best to hurry himself right on his feet. Steffon had came before he got himself upright, his little hand held out for his little brother to take. He helped him up, held his hand, and ran with him to make sure he wasn't left behind again. Just seeing such a memory again had made her eyes become glassy with tears she didn't think she should shed.

Those times were simpler, kinder. All her children were nearby and her boys got along with no wrinkles or rifts. Now they fought, they glared, and they argued. Neither one made the first step to mend their relationship, neither one apologized. Neither one tried to salve the wounds they made to one another verbally and now it became physical. It was up to her, queen and their mother most of all, to rectify things. She had to pull her older boys back together, especially since the fate of the kingdom rested in their hands. Steffon would be king and Joffrey would be Warden of the West in their grandfather's place in the future should all be right. They needed each other and most of all, she needed them.

"I hear the Crown Prince has left and gone to Dragonstone." Gossiping servants came fluttering in her ear. Cersei would've paid them no mind had it not been her boy they were yapping about amongst each other. "Why is he so eager to see Lord Stannis?"

"Who knows." said the other servant, "Why should anyone care? Probably royal business."

"But he only just returned. Why be so quick to see his Lord Uncle? Surely, he should get himself properly rested before travelin' again. It might have something to do with what happened on the road, don't you think?"

Now things were much more interesting. Keeping herself still, she made sure that nobody had noticed her in the hall. It was still quite empty, letting her hear word for word without her leaning closer to the sources because of any sudden noises. "What happened on the road?"

"They say Prince Steffon slapped his brother at the Trident." What a terrible rumor to spread. Surely, it would be so unfavorable to Steffon. "They also say that the reason why is because Prince Joffrey struck the little Stark girl. He threatened her to end her with his blade, and Prince Steffon saw with his own eyes and was so furious!"

A gasp and then some silence before it was quickly refilled with conversation. "Why would Prince Joffrey do that? I just hope the girl will substitute Prince Tommen. The little prince gets enough of his brother's ridicule."

It struck her nerves to hear them talk about Joffrey this way. Her boy was just a little mean, but he meant well. He played with Tommen so roughly because they were boys and that was just simply how boys were. Tommen was just young, soft and sweet, but he had to grow some thicker skin and Joffrey was preparing him for that. That was all.

"I don't know…" The servant sounded quite confused, unsure of herself. Probably because she didn't know what she was talking about, Cersei reasoned. Whether or not to make them quiet or punish them for their insolence was up in the air. "I have a feeling the castle most certainly will be less than boring."

"Has it ever been?" Finding something humorous in that, Cersei suppressed a snort and decided to move along. She was no longer entertained by their gossip and thought a proper visit to Maester Pycelle was in order. The old man was right under her thumb. Surely, he would give her a lengthy discussion of Ned Stark's first council meeting as Hand. During the way, however, she would have those chattering servants would receive ten lashes each. Nobody would bad mouth her boy and not face her wrath.

 _ **CASSANDRA**_

"I don't want you to tell Steffon about any of this." Her words were stern, not a hint of a smile on her face as her eyes stared at her friend who was organizing her wardrobe. Josselyn didn't pause or change her pace, she kept folding the dresses into the neatest of squares that were hand washed and dried by servants. "The last thing I need is for him to worry."

"I understand." There was a but coming, Cassandra could feel it. Her eyes closed and a sigh escaped her right before it was said, "But he'll figure it out. With Lady Stark going to King's Landing, he's bound to find out some way or another. And you know how he'll react, hearing that you nearly met your end in a fire. And not only that, for your family to be to blamed for the near murder of Lord Brandon…" Tsking, she shook her head. "He'll explode, most certainly."

He most certainly would and she wanted to avoid that at all costs. Steffon trusted her to be safe here. How would he feel if he knew she was unable to rightfully protect herself that day? He would be angry, but most of all disappointed. How could she, skilled by the sword under his tutelage, nearly let that man get away with killing her? She still felt guilty about it, the anger kept gnawing at the pits of her stomach and she desperately tried to ignore it. For a good hour she would forget and then it came back with a vengeance all over again.

"Please?" Hopeless, Cassandra couldn't find it in herself to really want to beg. It was her pride that was still freshly wounded on so many wavelengths, and this would just make a deeper gash if Steffon were to know.

The blonde-haired girl sighed, stopping mid-fold. "Alright, I won't tell him." Relieved by that, Cassandra flopped down in a chair with her hands barely laying on its arms. "He's going to find out and be more pissed that neither of us told him. If he comes running his way here, I'm pointing my fingers at you."

By the breath of the Mother and the Father, she'd rather have been burnt alive than having Steffon come back here in such a rage. At least she would've been soundly dead and not be there to bare witness to it. Her brother was, for the most part, the cold cold kind of angry, not the hot kind like she was. He had their mother's temper, who at times could be like tumultuous waves and other times, cold and calculating. She'd rather be like their father: seething, red-faced, shouting and name-calling all while ready for violence. As of lately, however, she learned she couldn't always hit at the objects and people that riled her.

"With Lady Stark away, you are the Lady of Winterfell." Strange as it was, it was true. With all that was going on, her goodmother wasn't in the right mindset to actually teach her how to govern this place as its lady and now what was she to do? How could she fulfill her duties if she didn't know what they were? There were people she would most certainly have to meet and things that had to be done around here. Perhaps asking Lord Luwin for advice would be the wisest thing to do.

"Does it matter? I can hardly be a good one for I have had none of the lessons." Cassandra replied with disinterest, mainly because she wasn't sure how this was supposed to work. "Lady Stark didn't think she would have to give me such a position so soon and her mind is too warped in her grief to care."

Josselyn gave her a pitiful look, her eyes sad and empathetic. Cassandra didn't want that, she didn't want to be pitied, but she couldn't just tell the girl to stop it. It was because Josselyn cared that she had done it, so what would be the point in being angry? Sighing, she tilted her head back, closing her eyes some as she tried to cool her nerves by thinking less harshly. Perhaps she should just start thinking less most of all.

Robb was away with his duties, Rickon was in his lessons, and Bran was still asleep. There was no one to bother outsider her ladies-in-waiting and handmaidens or even her closest friend. Ever since the fire, she didn't dare go near the library tower because she still had flashes of her near death, so much that she could barely breathe thinking about the tower. All her mind and body could remember was the smoke filling her lungs, the rawness of her throat, and the constant coughing that pained her lungs. It was hard to look at fire now and not think about it, but she knew could get over these fears. They were fresh, temporary.

"Cassandra, are you really not worried about Lady Stark going to King's Landing?" Sinking further into the chair, she raised her leg to hang over the chair, deciding to be completely lazy in her comfort. Her posture was entirely unlady-like, but who was she meant to impress now? Certainly not Josselyn.

"Why should I? I have defended my family as best I can." Her eyes observed Josselyn's features, seeing clear doubt. "What more can I do? I encourage her to tell her husband what happened to Bran. He deserves to know, Brandon is his son after all."

"True but…" Before she could finish, the door slowly open. Throwing her leg down and sitting upright again like a proper lady, Josselyn immediately smoothed out her dress, her head bowing immediately. "Lord Stark."

Robb walked in with tired steps. His eyes were drooping, almost like they had every day since he took up being Lord of Winterfell in entirety. "I was just leaving." Smirking at Cassandra quickly, Josselyn gave the proper courtesy and shuffled out of the room, closing the door behind her.

"Are you going to listen to me for once and take a break?" Cassandra asked him, raising her eyes to properly look at him as he removed his fur cloak.

"Do I look _that_ bad?" He had to nerve to ask her that. The good in her wanted to lie, but Cassandra didn't want to be dishonest over something so minuscule.

"Yes." She told him sharply, "You look like you've been kicked around." Crinkling her eyes, she withheld a snort as he gave her a sloth-like glower. He didn't even have it in him to give her a look something menacing because he was too tired. The poor lad, she thought. "I shall tell someone to draw you a proper bath, Seven knows you need one."

"Not only am I being told I look terrible, you say I smell awful as well?" Unable to fathom how the insults kept being hurled at him, Robb quickly rose an arm to sniff his armpit. Cassandra caught his sour expression immediately afterwards. "I suppose…" Embarrassed now, his eyes shyly didn't meet her own, "that I do need a bath."

Withholding her laugh, trying not to let even the smallest of sounds of it loose, she shifted her attention to the sudden knock on their door. Leaving Robb to contemplate her words of truth, she opened the door to see a messenger. "My lady," he bowed his head upon the sight of her, "you've received a raven from your uncle, Lord Tyrion."

Curious, she allowed the man to place the letter in her hand. "Thank you and as you go, could you tell one of the servants to draw my lord husband a bath?" With an eager nod, she graced the young man with a smile before letting him go and closing the door.

Unfolding the letter, her eyes stayed glued to her uncle's neat and familiar handwriting. "He says before he heads home, he will come to visit me once he leaves the Wall." She informed her husband, who was gazing straight at her face with a question nearly ready to leave his lips. "Are you content with that?" After believing her family had something to due with the near assassination of Bran, would Robb feel uneasy of having her uncle visit them?

A look of thought came across his face before he shook his head. "He is your family, he is welcomed to see you as he likes." Robb didn't sound enthusiastic, which she should've expected. He seemed neutral on the matter, but who was to say if he wasn't placating her? His mother thought sourly of her uncle and she was sure Robb might share the same feelings. What did her uncle do to make Lady Stark dislike him so? Was it because he was a dwarf? Possibly. Could it be his reputation? Most likely. Most people, ladies especially, did not like the trail of rumors and truths that followed his footsteps.

Nevermind her husband's feelings on her uncle, Cassandra was happy to see him. She wanted to hear everything about the Wall, hear the stories of the people and some of the history he uncovered while he was there. Her uncle always had a fascinating way of storytelling, drawing you in and leaving you eager for more. Not only that, he always added a joke here and there that kept you laughing while on the edge of your seat.

The servants came tub carried and buckets of steaming hot water she assumed to be from the springs she heard about. Her eyes watched them curiously as they filled the tub, adding scents that would rid her husband of the sweat and smell of outside that was deep into his skin. When they left, she had no idea he would begin to strip himself of his clothes right away. Uncomfortably, she quickly turned her back on him, acting as if she never seen him naked before.

It was only once, a memory that burned itself in her mind.

She could hear the splashing of water and the relaxed sigh once he settled himself in. After what seemed like the appropriate amount of time, she cautiously turned her head to look at him. He was fully seated in the tub and his lower half was out of her sight due to the rippling of the waters, concealing the rest of him from her gaze with the help of distortion of light and space within their room.

The smile of his face was content, like he had needed this bath all day. Where was her thanks? She stubbornly wondered. If it weren't for her, he would've been tired and dirty. "Better?" She asked him, innocent in her stubbornness.

"Better." The need to frown was so strong in all its childish glory. "If you want, you could join me."

"W-What?" He said it so flippantly, like it was a pure suggestion and the intention of it all was not as sexual as it implied. With her eyes wide and shock on her face, she was bewildered of how her husband could so casually suggest something like that.

Robb's eyes crinkled, smile on his face. "I was only joking." Relieved, she shook her head.

"You know, I think you get a real kick out of annoying me, Robb Stark." Haughtily, Cassandra raised her chin. "And what if I were to have agreed? How would you feel then?"

Surprised by her answer, his brows rose. "I… I didn't think you would."

"Is that a challenge?"

"I wasn't challenging you… I…" Yes, now he was the one properly flustered. Smirking, she couldn't help but chuckle.

"See? See how it feels when it done to you?" He looked like a little boy, ready to pout, before stubborn turning his face to look away from her. Whether it was to save face or because he was still shocked by her suggestion was unknown to her as he sunk himself lower into the water.

The bath did look nice. She could tell the waters were hot from the way his pale skin reddened in some areas and the constant steam that rose from the surface. She always bathed in the wee hours of the morning, right after he left for privacy, and then right after dinner before he returned for the night. Not once did Robb see her bare as the day she was born after their consummation.

"I'm sorry you weren't able to handle my joke." An apology or a means to rile her? Cassandra couldn't see the clear and cut difference.

With a snort, she shook her head. "I can handle your jibes and jokes." She told him matter-of-factly, "But _you_ are another matter entirely." The last bit came out softer, her voice losing its volume as if she didn't want him to hear it. "And there is no desire within me to lose to you."

 _ **STEFFON**_

The month had gone much faster than he would've thought it would. It almost felt like only a good week had gone by, but it most certainly more. Steffon missed his home for the first time and days, so much so that he was a little joyus to be sailing Blackwater Bay back to the Red Keep. His sudden happiness made him rejuvenated, perfectly ready for any obstacle that dared show itself before him now. After Stannis helped him make quiet moves, stretching his name and hand all the way to Myr, Steffon was sure that everything would fall into place when he expected them to.

When he left the harbors and was escorted by guards to his home, he didn't expect for the air in his home to seem much more chaotic than it was when he left. There was something off to him, but he couldn't properly place what had been changed or afoot. He was made aware of the many letters piled on his desk from many lords that wrote him. Why did they want to speak to him suddenly? Steffon didn't have the slightest idea to why and he wasn't sure he was going to like what they had to say.

His brief encounter with Ned Stark had been only of hello's. The man looked like he aged within the span of time Steffon spent away. He looked tired, unsure, probably because everything he knew and all his morals were made to be question on the daily basis. Why did this man still think his Northern honor and values could touch light and heal the sinners of the South? He was still foolish in that regard, but did Steffon's respect for him grow some since he was so adamant about it.

By the time Steffon reached his bedchamber, he was shocked at the amount of letters that piled on his desk. It would've been impossible for them to gone unnoticed and it made him wonder if his mother or one of her spies tried to rummage through them. Gods know she had to wonder why these lords took a sudden interest in him and because she was his mother. Mothers didn't exactly know privacy and letting their children live their own lies without them knowing everything that went on in them.

As soon as he picked up the first letter, the seal of House Tyrell, a knock was at his door. Annoyed by the interruption, the Crown Prince briefly closed his eyes to temper his ire. "Enter." He told them, loud enough for them to hear him.

The door opened, revealing a servant. "My prince, your father requests an audience with you right away."

He didn't expect any less, so he obliged by telling the servant to inform his father he'd see him right away. They went scurrying off, properly closing the door behind him as Steffon looked back at the sealed envelope. It didn't look broken, meaning that nobody had rummaged through it. Surprised as he was, he was more than grateful. Perhaps it was Ser Barristan that made sure his letters quietly made their way to his desk without any of his family members knowing.

Joffrey wouldn't have taken interest in any of this. The only time he came to Steffon's room was to bother him or take something he liked, but that was back when the both of them still played and fought over Cassandra's miniature carved toys.

Laying the letter back down onto the pile, he left his chambers to make his way to his father's. It was the place his father liked to hold his meetings, which Steffon always loathed. As many times as his father brought women into the bedroom, the air always smelled of wine and sex, which always left Steffon so uncomfortable.

Much to his surprise, Jaime stood on guard in front of his father's chambers. He looked bored and annoyed most of all, which entertained Steffon just a little. Once his footsteps were loud enough for his uncle to hear, Jaime turned to face him and hitched a brow. "You've returned, finally. I almost thought you were trying to make a home on that dreadful Dragonstone."

"Missed me?" Unsure of what to say without sounding condescending, he tilted his head curiously at his forced playful persona. "Nothing was the same while I was away, was it?"

"Hardly." Jaime answered him, nearly sighing as he did. "Your mother wasn't too fond of your little runaway. Why did you not inform her of your trip yourself?"

Good, he thought. That was exactly what he wanted. He wanted his mother annoyed and suspicious of why he left so suddenly. Whenever his mother was angry, she became easier to read and figure out. The woman held such good cunning half of the time, but lost it all when she was angry. Sometimes you had to provoke the lion to find its weakness as dangerous as it was, but if you enter the lion's den then you have no regard for your own safety. You might as well do as much as you can while you were still alive.

"Mother doesn't like Uncle Stannis," Raking his fingers through his golden hair, Steffon shrugged his shoulders lazily. "Why bother to annoy her by the mere mention of name?"

"Because she is your mother and you are her son." He was told plainly, "She wishes to know where you go, especially if she doesn't like who you went to see." As if he of all people had the right to lecture him. Sometimes Steffon couldn't just believe how clear his mother and uncle's relationship really was and how he just took this for sibling love. This overprotectiveness was too the extreme. Not even Steffon himself behaved this way to Cassandra or bothered to defend her over the littlest of things like this. His uncle nearly thought his Cersei was the Mother in the faith of the Seven from how hard he fought for her.

"I did not come here to be lectured, Uncle." Steffon said briskly, unable to hid his apparent aggravation. "I came to see my father and now I am here. Now, will you please inform him of that?"

Jaime looked as if he wanted to scold him for his attitude, but his stare said it all. Steffon did not back down or look away, he challenged him as he waited. Jaime knocked first before halfway stepping into the room to alert Robert that Steffon returned and came to see him.

When the door was pushed open wider to allow him, Steffon walked past Jaime without another word or glance. He stood a few feet, looking at the corner of his eyes for the door to close. When it did, he rose his head to look at his parent. "Father." Bowing his head in the manners of a prince and son, he watched his father give a nod of acknowledgement before maneuvering his hand to direct Steffon to take a seat before him.

With a few more steps, Steffon sat down in the seat and leaned back, his limbs lazily resting on the arms of the chair. "Back from Draongstone…" Robert rose a brow, holding out his gold chalice for Lancel to stumble his way towards desk in order to pour him a measure of wine. Steffon briefly looked to his cousin, nearly wanting to curl his lips in disdain. Lancel gave him a stiff nod, which he returned just as casually. "Somethin' tells me that you be up to somethin', boy. And I want to know what it is."

Now his father had reason to question just what he was doing? Did he really make all his actions so loud? No, Steffon didn't think so. It seemed normal for his father to question why he went on running to Dragonstone. He had every reason to question why he went anywhere. "All I have done was go visit Stannis, father." Presenting the most honest expression he could conjure, his father's eyes went squint with skepticism. "Surely, you are overthinking it."

"Overthinking it?" His father repeated incredulously, "I'm supposed to believe you suddenly missed that borish uncle of yours? Ha!" His laugh was loud, filled with sarcasm as he took a large gulp of Dornishwine. "You can't fool me, Steffon. I knew you since you were a wailing babe at your mother's teat, I know when you're up to something."

That irked him. Steffon couldn't help but clench his jaw concerning that. As much as he loved his father, the man wasn't properly there for his mother when he was a babe. Sure, a few times he came and lifted him in the air and bragged about having a son. Other than that? It was his mother who did everything as much as Steffon hated to admit it. His father did not raise him in his early years, he only sought to make Steffon a proper prince when he was at least seven.

"I'm not trying to fool you, father." Sitting upright, the blond-haired boy locked his fingers to make a bridge for his chin to rest on, allowing his elbows to sink into his knees. "I swear to you that I am not up to anything."

"Then tell me why you went." Persistent on the matter, wasn't he? It only served to grate on Steffon's nerves. His father usually did not question him or press for matters too much, a lot of it due because of the obvious favoritism. Steffon used to use it into his advantage for having his way, but his father seemed too suspicious to allow that to work presently.

Now allowing himself to sigh, he quickly thought of a proper way to rid his king father of this obvious wariness. "Did you not find it strange why uncle suddenly left King's Landing? Just right after Lord Arryn died." Robert straightened up in his seat, brows slowly coming together as he seemed to take his words into consideration. "He is the Master of Ships, why would he suddenly leave like that? Unless," He emphasised, "Unless he thought something was awry."

It might've served him some purpose to allow his father to be so cautious. For once, maybe his father could open his wide and see all the lying, scheming, and treachery all around him. As much as Steffon wished his father could gain some perspective, Steffon knew that was entirely unlikely. His father was blind because he chose to be. It was a matter of choice, and maybe just a little bit of naïveté. When will he see that games and murder happened so casually around here? "You think Stannis knows something about it?"

"That was I originally thought, yes." Some truth, some lie. It was easier this way. "But he knew nothing." He brought his acting skills to forefront by sighing in what seemed to be disappointment. He shook his head, slowly with doubt. "I had him tell me of the events that happened leading up to Lord Arryn's death, but he only told me little without any leads."

Robert himself seemed a bit disappointed about it. He gave an understanding nod, fingers tapping against the surface of the desk. "I see." He settled, relieving Steffon that his plan worked. His father was easy to fool, which was sad since the man was the king.

"How is Lord Stark doing as hand?" Shifting the conversation for a means to not let his father think too much on his trip and because of his own curious, he saw his father's eyes lit up with interest. The man usually didn't care about politics, seeing as how he barely ran his own lands, but surely he had an opinion of his best friend was handling things around here. "Also, how is the Hand' tourney coming along? I was sure I might miss it."

"Stiff as he always been." Robert scoffed, a small smile on his face. "He hasn't changed a bit." For some reason, Steffon didn't honestly believe that. There had to be some difference between Ned Stark now than years ago. "I see little to no improvements, but I hear he has some things planned and has been moving around." Basically, Ned Stark was either allowed to do little or something had completely soaked his interest. He suspected the latter, but what could it be? Steffon intended to find out."It just better be coming along, Ned almost proposed he shouldn't have one." Unnecessarily, Robb slammed his hand on the table, "That's not how things go around here."

"Most certainly not." Steffon complied eagerly, nodding as he did. "How are you feeling?" He finally asked, concerned for his father's well-being. "You seem…better after Lord Arryn's passing."

Steffon spoke to their father right after he spoke to Lord Arryn for the last time while the man was known to be on his deathbed. Back then, his father was a drunken mess who was only concerned about speaking about the past; Lyanna, the Rebellion, and his days are a ward with Ned Stark. He constantly spoke of how Lord Arryn was like a father to him. It seemed as if the wound of the loss was healing, slowly but surely.

"I'm fine, boy." Robert insisted, trying to act unbothered by it all. "People die, you just have to get over it."

Simple as those words were, Steffon had no reason to believe his father believed in any of that. Death seemed to have a strong impact on him because he never forgot or let go of any of those that died; whether it was his father and mother, Lyanna Stark, and now Lord Arryn. His father grieved in the worst ways for them.

"There's somethin' else we need to talk about, Steff." He had hoped that he would be able to leave now, but he was sorely mistaken.

"What is it?" Halfway curious and halfway wanting to speed this along, Steffon tried to remain interested in what his father had to say.

"It seems you've grown quite popular." Confused, Steffon bowed his brows with a frown. "After hearing that I let your sister marry Ned's boy and engaged Joff to his daughter, many lords are curious if you are ready to marry yourself."

Ah, so that's what all those letters were about? Lords trying to give him sweet words so that he could take a chance to glance at their daughters? Steffon knew he couldn't remain unmarried, especially since he was the Crown Prince. His marriage was more more imminent than both Joffrey and Cassandra's, but they were married and engaged before he was.

"Whether I'm ready or not doesn't really matter, now does it?" Robert laughed at his question, downing more of his wine after his loud outburst. How could marriage fit into his plots of revenge? It would ruin it most likely. With a wife at his side, he couldn't abandoned her on a daily basis to make sure his mother and uncle would suffer for the consequences of their actions.

Sinking into the seat, Steffon knew he had to act interested. If he kept putting the marriage off, rumors would circulate that he slighted many of the lords that offered their daughters or that he enjoyed men in his bed like it was implied his Uncle Renly did. He couldn't feed into either rumor, but he also didn't need a woman he barely knew ruining things. How long could he hold this off without upsetting anyone? Now that an another obstacle was before him, Steffon didn't feel as confident as he did after the boat docked.

 _ **NED**_

It was a whole week since Prince Steffon returned and the boy had been strangely quiet. He roamed the castle halls like any other prince would, like he had seen Joffrey do, but Ned thought the boy would be much more harder to find as of lately. With his suspicions, he thought the boy would give chase, make his trails without any bread crumbs, but he had been docile. After Robert's own concerns with his son's actions, it seemed as if Steffon knew he had to wait it out. And when he finally thought to do what Ned knew he intended, he would make sure that Jory would be the one to follow him.

It could've been that with the reasons of night coming all this way from all over parts of the realm for this tourney, he was keeping himself quiet. Robert was in a rush to have the boy a proper wife, a woman who would undoubtedly be a queen in the future. Steffon didn't seem enthused about it at all, reminding Ned when he was suddenly told he had to marry Catelyn upon the death of Brandon. He was not ready, he did not want Catelyn then, but he was happy things worked out the way they did. Whenever he felt that happiness, the guilt came along with it due to the fact that Catelyn came with the cost of losing Brandon.

"What is your intrigue with Prince Steffon, my lord?" Jory finally asked, he had done his orders without question, but now he thought it time that he knew why Ned kept an eye on the boy.

"He either knows something or is trying to know of something in particular." Of that he was sure, "And whatever it is, I see it as no small matter."

Jory gave a nod, coming to understand where Ned was coming from. "And you think he would keep it secret from you?"

"I have no idea if Steffon trusts me or no," Ned drew in his eyebrows, contemplating it all. Whatever it was, it had something to do with Jon Arryn, of that Ned was sure of. If the boy was investigating his death then that means he was aware that the man died in a questionable manner. "I have no reason to believe that he is hiding it from me purposely. I think he is unsure of how severe it is."

His eyes gazed back to the tome that lied on the surface of the table before him: The Lineage and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms, With Descliptions of Many High Lords and Noble Ladies and Their Children, by Grand Maester Malleon. This was the very book that Jon Arryn asked for and Jon Arryn never did anything without reasons.

"When Prince Steffon went to see Lord Stannis, you could've informed him that you want to summon him back from Dragonstone." Jory mentioned, "Why didn't you?"

"I was not ready to resort to that yet." The Hand replied, "Steffon would have questions and Lord Stannis would not like to see his nephew used. I also want a better notion of what this all about and see where the both of them stand." Without a moment's haste, he begun his orders. "Bring me my doublet, if you would. The grey, with the direwolf sigil. I want this armorer to know who I am. It might make him more forthcoming."

Compliantly, Jory had ambled his way to the wardrobe. He knew that Ned was ready to speak of the boy that had been around to tell the tale of the places Jon and Stannis had gone off too. He had to believed the stable boy's words for it. Ned could hardly trust half of what anyone said here anyway.

 _ **STEFFON**_

The first place on the list was the armory, which didn't seem out of the norm. Due to his status, Steffon made sure that when he slipped away from the sights of his Lannister guards and into the crowd, he wore a cloak that could shield half his face. It gave him the proper shadow of mystery. The blond mane was too noticeable and Silver was meant to stay in his bedchambers until he returned. The lion was already irate for being left behind when he went to Dragonstone and now his master left him again. It would take some time to make Silver forgive him, but Steffon would try his hardest when he returned.

He tilted his head back, bunching the material to keep his hood from slipping back so he could make sure that he was on the right path. The armory was written to be located in a large house at the top of the Street of Steel. Steffon knew King's Landing pretty well considering how sheltered he had been. He studied the maps well and his very few walks with Tyrion served to come to the forefront of his memory good enough.

Whenever his eyes came across a child barefoot or hungry, his hands would twitch. He desperately wanted to reach into his currency pouch and give them coins, but it would draw attention if he gave them gold dragons. Gold dragons were the only thing he carried, what would a prince need of silver or coppers? When a few of the children stopped at the cart filled with rows of fruit, Steffon knew he couldn't keep walking. The good in him just couldn't stand to see a child hungry, even at the cost of exposing his identity.

Reaching into his pockets, he pulled out three gold dragons. "I'm buying fruit for all the children here. Let them have as many as they want and take as much as they want at the price of three gold dragons." He handed the merchant the money, quickly, who blinked madly at the sight of the expensive coins as the children eagerly began swiping all the coins worth.

With a faster pace, he bobbed and weaved through the crowd, trying to hide himself again. The merchant was still calling out to him, out of thanks or curiosity? Steffon would never know now, but just knowing those children didn't starve was just enough. Hopefully, they could share their fruits with other children or other hungry members of their family. He knew poverty was horrible here, but Steffon didn't know it was to this extreme. The sight of hungry, half-clothed children and adults without homes or even a loaf of bread was startling. How much work had to be done here? He couldn't save everyone, but he was willing to save whoever he could.

The sounds of hammers hitting steel began to ring in his ears. The air was smoky and muggy, making his eyes sting as he constantly tried to blink it all away. He knew he was close as he began to see the open forges and many men buying chainmail and wagons of swords and other weapons going up and down the narrow road. Sales upon sales were shouted, almost making him wish he could tell them shutup since a few had yelled for the "fantastic" sales of their arms right into his ear. They were doing their job, he reasoned, but he wished it wasn't at the expense of nearly making him deaf.

The hill was making him tired since it felt so neverending and from what he could tell, the man he was looking for was right at the very top of it. The house was bigger than he thought it would be and made of what looked to be timber and plaster. The upper stories giving the streets a shadow to block anyone from the hot sun if they wanted shade.

Swallowing down whatever fear that trickled up his throat, Steffon pushed open the doors and was immediately met with a serving girl. She had a chalice in one hand and a pitcher of wine in the other. Upon seeing him, she looked surprised and even a little disappointed.

Her eyes immediately looked to her right, meeting the gaze of the man that seemed to be the Master Armorer who came rushing his way through. He also shared the same disappointed look, but his anger was starting to well up in his eyes before he made a vicious frown. "Who are you and what are you doing here?" He questioned immediately, "The Hand is on his way, I'm offering my services to no one else!"

"The Hand?" Steffon repeated, unaware that Ned Stark was making his way here as well. How did he know to come here? Did he figure something out while Steffon was trying to shake off any eyes that were awaiting for his next move? Should he reveal himself before he was forced out? Steffon was unsure of the next step to take. He was left contemplated on what to do next.

"Yes, the Lord Hand as I just said." The Master stressed, "If you aren't here to buy anything then go! You don't look as if you have the coins to even touch any of my arms."

Insulted and infuriated, Steffon ripped his hood back so quick that he barely had time to blink. "I am Prince Steffon Baratheon, Crown Prince of the Iron Throne. I demand you show me proper respect or I'll bring your head before a sword and punish your insolence myself."

The serving girl and her master brought themselves down to their knees, she dropped the picture of wine and the chalice, spilling summerwine onto the floor and letting pool close to his feet. "M-My prince, I-I…" Now they stuttered, now they were pleading for their lives and forgiveness for their rude behavior. It was a shame that any other person would've been treated that way based on how they were dressed. No wonder the poor hated the rich, look at how they were treated?

He raised his hand, ordering them to rise without giving them any verbal orders. The Master Armorer nearly fell making himself stand again and the girl kept her head down, unable to meet his blue eyes. "M-My prince, may I clean this mess I have made? Surely, such a pigsty w-would dissatisfy you."

"You think I care whether this place is clean or not after how I was spoken to?" Steffon hadn't meant to frighten the girl again, his voice was loud in his annoyance. "Go on with your duty, I don't care." He dismissed her, his eyes narrowing at the Master, who was twiddling his thumbs now. "I have questions and I want answers, and I will want you to behave as if I was never here. You will not tell the Hand I came, understood?"

The forger nodded his head quickly. "Yes, my prince."

"My uncle and Lord Arryn came here before…" Looking around at the many weapons, costly as Steffon knew them to be, on the walls as well as the many armors of shades and sizes. The craftsmanship was something he could admire even in his anger. "Tell me, when they entered your shop, what did they ask you?"

"Perhaps, my prince, you may want to sit and have some wine? Surely, standing while talking—" Steffon eyebrows pulled down together, eyes thinning in a heated glare as his lips were tightly closed. "I-I suppose not…" Quickly clearing his throat and tugging his collar, the Master Armorer knew it wiser to not try to placate him without answers. "T-They asked to see the boy, so I took them back to the forge."

His anger faltered, confusion taking its place. Steffon rose a brow, "The boy? Who is this boy? I want to see him."

"Yes, my prince." With a nod, he began his walk, allowing Steffon enough time to follow him closely. They had gone out a rear door, across a narrow yard, and back to what looked to be a cavernous stone barn where all the work was done. Steffon watched him as he opened the door, the heat of hot air came flowing out like when you stood in front of an oven. Steffon winced, still caught off guard by it, and squinted as he followed the man inside the forge.

Many men were inside and all of them looked at him with question, neverminding their work to give him some of their attention. They were probably wondering what he wanted and why the Master Armorer had brought him back here. None of them knew who he was, which made Steffon wonder if the cloak really made much sense outside after all. Who would think the Crown Prince would walk down the street in broad daylight?

They kept going, going right into the bellows with the rest of the boy apprentices. They wore know shirts, possibly due to the heat of the fire to shape the armor and weapons. One boy in particular stood out. He looked to be of the same age as Steffon and was the one that the Master Armorer had stood directly in front of. "This is…" He turned to him, eyes asking if he should tell the boy who he was.

Steffon shook his head, "No need to know my name. I want to ask you a few questions and leave you to your work when done."

The boy looked at him, bearing the same eyes that reminded Steffon of his own. His hair was an inky black as well as an unkempt mess. Surely, nobody cared how they looked back here. They were making weapons and armor, not wearing them like the Lords. "This is Gendry." Gendry… A name he never heard before, but Steffon knew he must remember it. "Show him the that helmet you made."

Gendry didn't look all too eager. In fact, he looked almost embarrassed as he led them towards his bench, and allowed Steffon to see the steel helm that happened to be shaped like the head of a bull. It was made fantastically, forged from pure and raw steel. Steffon never saw armor made like that before… He was more than impressed.

"You made this?" The Crown Prince couldn't help but ask, still in awe. "Would it be too much if I would pay for you to make me a helm in the fashion of a Stag?"

Gendry looked at him, surprised almost, before a half a smile graced his features. "I could do that."

"I'll be looking forward to it." Steffon returned him a small smile of his own, "I know this may seem strange to you, me coming here and asking to see you, but I am here on important matters. I was told my Lord Stannis and Lord Arryn came to see you, could you inform of what you discussed with either one of them?"

"Lord Arryn…" The dark-haired boy began, "all he did was ask me questions. I suppose you want to know the questions." Steffon nodded in reply, "He asked how I was, was I treated well, and if I liked the work. Stuff about my mother too. Who she was and what she looked like and all."

Furrowing his brows, he wondered what all of this had meant. Why was Lord Arryn so curious about this boy's life? Who was he? "Did you answer his questions?"

"I told him that my mother died when I was little. She had yellow hair, and sometimes she used to sing to me, I remember. She worked in an alehouse."

Crossing his arms, Steffon began to ponder all of this information. "And Lord Stannis asked nothing of you? The bald, scary one I mean?" Gendry shook his head.

His blue eyes stared into Gendry's own again, wondering why his eyes look so similar to his. Blue eyes were common, but Steffon;s own was known was the Baratheon blue. Those eyes could not be duplicated if you weren't a Baratheon. So why did he have them? Unless…

He froze, right there. Steffon was aware of Mya and Edric, and to find out his father had made another bastard, one as old as he? No, Steffon didn't want to believe it. How could he not? His father whored for days, years, and all hours. Why did it feel so impossible right now? Maybe because he didn't want to believe that nearly in the same month Cassandra and himself were conceived, he made another child in his newly marriage. He cheated that quickly?

But why did Lord Arryn and Stannis seek him out? His uncle's words came floating back in his head: "You won't be surprised of all of what you'll find. It is what it all adds up to that will, my nephew."

He was right. He shouldn't have been shocked about this, but what would all of this lead up to? Was he on a quest to find each bastard that his father made? Schooling his face back to a neutral look, he looked at the Master Armorer and then back at Gendry. "The Hand will come and he will ask the same questions of you. Do not mention me, pretend as if I never came." Confused, Gendry furrowed his brows but nodded, knowing he had no choice but to accept it. "I will come to find you again, Gendry. You…" Another brother, one that he couldn't even properly meet at that. A brother the same age as he with no mother and forced to be without family, working for this rude man. Steffon would've loved to see how his mother behaved if he brought Gendry to court, forcing them all to acknowledge him. "You take care."

But why did Lord Arryn and Stannis seek him out? His uncle's words came floating back in his head: _"You won't be surprised of all of what you'll find. It is what it all adds up to that will, my nephew."_

He was right. He shouldn't have been shocked about this, but what would all of this lead up to? Was he on a quest to find each bastard that his father made? Schooling his face back to a neutral look, he looked at the Master Armorer and then back at Gendry. "The Hand will come and he will ask the same questions of you. Do not mention me, pretend as if I never came." Confused, Gendry furrowed his brows but nodded, knowing he had no choice but to accept it. "I will come to find you again, Gendry. You…" Another brother, one that he couldn't even properly meet at that. A brother the same age as he with no mother and forced to be without family, working for this rude man. Steffon would've loved to see how his mother behaved if he brought Gendry to court, forcing them all to acknowledge him. "You take care."

With a nod, Steffon decided to go to the next location. The next place happened to be a brothel, and one that did not belong to Littlefinger. It was run by a dark-skinned, beautiful woman from the Summer Isles. It took some convincing, heavy convincing, to tell her he was here on an important task. With some conversations, some more convincing, he was finally led to who his uncle wanted him to find. Before him, in one of the many rooms of the pleasure establishment, he was face-to-face with a young girl that had to be years younger than him and Cassandra.

It didn't surprise him, but it disgusted him. She had to at least been around Sansa's age. In her arms was a baby, which Steffon knew had to be another one of his father's bastards; a half-sibling that Steffon never even knew again. The young mother had hair that was a light red and many freckles on her face, mostly across the bridge of her button nose.

She was patting the small back of the infant, acting like a mother when she shouldn't have been one at her tender age. Just seeing it made him feel pitiful because she had deserved something much better than all of this. "I…" She finally noticed him, standing there with sad eyes as he looked the baby with a mop of black hair on its head. "I'm only going to sing her to sleep then I can tend to you, sir."

"There is no need for that." Steffon raised his hand to dismiss any idea that he came to lay with her. "I only want you to answer my question." Puzzled, the girl looked at him as if he had said something obscene. "Is the child in your arms the bastard of King Robert Baratheon?"

She was frightened, almost instantly, clutching her child close like he was some madman. "Please, please don't harm her!" It was natural reaction, still he didn't expect it. Steffon never had anyone so afraid him, especially a woman.

"I'm not going to harm you or the little one." He tried to ease her, speaking as calmly as he could with his hands out to show he did not any weapons in them. "I am Prince Steffon, Crown Prince of the Iron Throne. The child you hold there is my… my little sister." The words sounded so unbelievable leaving him, but the girl managed to calm and then began try to quickly apologize. She even went as far as trying to bend her knee before him, Steffon kept her still by pulling her lightly up by the arm. "No need for that." Relieved that everything had become peaceful, he looked down at his half-sibling. "Can I… Can I hold her?"

Hesitant, the young girl looked down at her baby and then back at Steffon. A smile soon came across her face before she carefully placed the baby in his arms, allowing him to cradle her. "Her name is Barra." It was an… interesting name. He couldn't question it, and he didn't want to after seeing Barra's chubby face. Steffon could see how much his father was in this baby's looks, especially since her features reminded him of Cassandra almost immediately. Her hair was curly, sticking close to her head, but her eyes were blue just like his.

"I love your father, I really do." The girl told him, "He's always been good to me and surely, you'll tell him of Barra, won't you?"

Her words stung him, almost immediately as they were said. This girl, near Sansa in age, had laid and loved his father and bore him a bastard girl. How much more could his family infuriate him? How much more did he have to hate them all? Barra, Gendry… They suffered because of his father's lack of responsibility. And if his mother had any say, she'd harm them if she thought they posed as any threat.

"Tell you what, how about I take you and Barra to a safer place? You're not safe here and neither is Barra. I'll buy you a home and when it is safe, you can let Barra meet her father."

"Really, my prince? You would really do that?" Her eyes were brimming with tears, unable to believe that someone would give her this kindness. That at least someone was willing to go out of their way to protect her and this little life.

"I mean it." Steffon looked down at his baby sister, trying not to feel rage for his father all over again. I will have men escort you to a proper home and you can raise Barra in peace."

* * *

 **A/N** : If anyone is curious as to why I went for Myr to be an ally it is because it is canon that Myr backed Stannis to be King. So, if they were willing to back him then that means they are more open and welcome to foreign exchanges/alliances with Westeros. Volantis, Lys, and Tyrosh seemed unrealistic to me and Braavos would've been too easy for someone to expose his plot.

I feel bad that while Cassandra is trying to fit in with her new family, Steffon is like "our family is fucking terrible lol"


	10. Chapter Nine: What Secrets Had Wrought

**Author's Note** : The wheels are turning.

 **Birdy** : And it's back.

 **Kaizer-Kid** : Those are some really great observations and I cannot confirm nor deny any of them. You'll just have to see where I go with this and I know that sounds pretty vague, but that's literally all I can.

 **Guest** : That question will not be answered in this chapter, but another. It is all going to come together in the grand scheme of things. There's a lot of foreshadowing, hints I'm dropping here and there.

 **magicdownunder** : He only scratched the surface. Roberts canonically has about like 12 bastard children. Steffon is a determined one, but I think some are too far from his reach to really find. I didn't even know Robert had canon twins until now. That's a crazy coincidence.

 **kill3rdarren** : I'm glad you like it. I see Robb as playful before the war *kinda* hardens him and he has to be all serious all the time because none of his decisions are momentous yet. She's still childish herself. Haha! I can't imagine she'll ever get the chance to do that because Catelyn would not accept that, ever. She was considered unruly, and now you get to see just how regular she can get without putting on airs. I heavily considered that, but I still think Robert would die anyway. If Daenerys knew he was roaming the free cities like he wants to do. Kill Bill sirens will be going off. That's true, I'm going to consider that! I think that's why Margaery has always been hard to write because you really don't see many sides of her personality. I mean, she's really cute with Sansa and playful, she knew how to stay in Joffrey's good graces, but with all her scheming to become queen you don't know what she likes and what her hobbies are? I halfway don't know if she really cares for Tommen or is just pretending to. But what you do know is that she is fiercely protective of Loras. So I'm going to try to give her some depth while trying to keep her canon, which is pretty hard. Thank you though! I like your suggestions.

 **ImpSlapFury** : I actually like Catelyn, even though I hate her reasons and treatment as far as Jon, but I totally understand why. I just don't condone it. She's politically savvy and most of her advice to Robb was what he needed to hear and what he should've followed. She messed up with a lot of things, but you knew the main reasoning was because she was a distraught mother and sudden widow. I think she has earned some good points with the way she moved politically. Hopefully they can make him see the light instead of going into it.

I totally agree with you! I hate what has become of Dorne and I'm still upset that Arianne isn't there. I'll probably cry about that forever.

* * *

 _ **STEFFON**_

Today was the first day Hand's Tourney. Steffon wanted to skip it, he wasn't in the mood for jousting, but he knew he had to keep up with appearances. Tourneys weren't just about fighting, Tourney's could change the future of things by the flow of conversations due to the congregation of lords and ladies from all over; Westerosi and foreign. The flow of conversations, for Steffon particularly, would be about joining his family's hand with another through marriage. His father warned him that many lords had came to see him with their daughters in tow. This was the ripe time to find a girl befitting for a wife and future queen before his father took matters in his own hands, choosing someone he thought fit based on the minimalist of qualities. The thought of his father choosing him a wife sickened him, especially knowing that he found young girls at the tender age of Sansa Stark worth bedding.

Due to the special essence of this day and days to come, he would not ignore his Lannister colors as usually did. Today, he would combine both Houses evenly. The reason being was that he could not show any sort of upset balance to these lords. It might come as a surprise to his mother, to his father even, since he preferred the Baratheon black and green than the Lannister red and gold. The lords could not begin to believe or sense any sort of disruption in their family, even if the rumors were sitting distinctively in their heads since servants and officers alike, like to speak of the dysfunctional royals. The perfect prince was something he knew he could play well and he had to fit that role to a T.

His doublet was red, golden brocade with designs of leaves and vines of threads made of Myrish silk. His trousers were pitch black without a single wrinkle, his boots golden dyed leather, and resting neatly on his right shoulder was the black half cape with the Crowned Stag insignia stitched in golden thread. His coiffure was fashioned the same, swept to the side since he couldn't bother having it brushed back or in a ponytail. He was sure his Uncle Jaime was fixing to tell him to cut it since his hair was growing longer for even Steffon's own liking. His hair was going to be the same length as Cassandra and Myrcella's at this rate. There wasn't much he could do to his hair anyway since he had to wear the gold and slender coronet, designed with rubies and emeralds, around his brow.

As he kindly sent the servants away that helped to dress him, he adjusted his own sleeve before looking at his father's warhammer that was placed with care on his wall. Blacktail or the warhammer? That was the harder decision as he glanced over at Silver, who lounged across his bed in his usual lazy fashion. His back was atop of the blanket, paws in the air as he rolled from his side and onto his back again. "The hammer or the sword, Silver? If I keep father's hammer on the wall any longer, he'll wonder why he even gave it to me."

Naturally, all he received was something much softer than a roar but closer to a growl. Silver was still quite upset with him. "Fine, I shouldn't have asked for your opinion anyway. What does a lion know? Hrrakar or no, you're still just a big cat. No better than Ser Pounce to me."

Silver swiped at him, snarl and teeth bared. Steffon couldn't help but to laugh, wondering how the animal knew so well that he was insulting him. A dog would've whined, but Silver bared his teeth and claws to anyone, his master too. Such a hostile thing he was. Silver leaped off the bed, standing under Blacktail as if that was his choice. Steffon's blue eyes glanced at the warhammer briefly, before nodding and deciding to go with the sword as well. Buckling Blacktail around his waist, he gave Silver a quick pet atop of his head. "Good choice, Silver."

Leaving his chambers, his eyes watched the bumbling movements of servants who were making sure everything was spick-and-span for those that would be staying in the guest apartments of Maegor's Holdfast. The Crown Prince made sure not to get in any of their way. He knew that the job of a servant was a hefty task in itself already and they didn't need it to be any harder for them, especially today of all days.

His mother and father, he reasoned, should be by the main entrance waiting for all the children to gather before they, together, as a family make their grand entrance and seat themselves. Steffon was a little earlier than he usually would've been at least he thought so seeing only his mother with Tommen and Myrcella behind her skirts. The two of them looked to be talking about whatever it is they found to be of their current interests.

Cersei raised her head at the sound of his boots hitting the marble floors and her eyes widened a fraction upon the sight of him. "Mother." Bowing his head, the golden-haired queen soon took precious steps towards him, her hands coming to gather his own.

"You look handsome, Steffon." It was like all the fury-embedded tension they held towards each other since they left Winterfell wasn't there or never was. Her anger towards him since the Trident seemed to have withered some, at least to Steffon it seemed it did. "You're even wearing our family colors."

She never claimed the Baratheon family, she was still a Lannister; married or not. "Of course." Being civil, he gave her a small smile. "Today's my lucky day, isn't it? I'll be looking for a bride…" He leaned forward some, a grin slowly revealing itself. "A future queen." Her lips dipped down slightly, which seemed like the best and normal reaction. One that he purposely egged on. The sound of the beginnings of his mother moving further away from staying the queen had to be upsetting for her, considering who she was.

"Who pushed this idea?" Her voice was slightly strained, like she was covering up her anger. "It was your father, wasn't it?"

"It was." Remaining truthful, he brought her in for a half hug. "Surely, I can't be your little boy forever, I've already grown way taller than you." His mother fought not to, but she eventually smiled, her head leaning into him. "Do you not want grandchildren?"

"Not at the expense of your happiness, my sweet boy." For some reason, he believed her. Even if his mother had done horrible things, things without morals and left free of the consequences she deserved, Steffon could never deny that she loved him. She does, she always did, but her love could not and would not blind him. No matter how much this little moment reminded him of days when he was blissfully unaware of all the things that came to the light, he could not forget it and move past it without rectifying them.

"Happiness isn't always a choice you can make." Cersei tilted her back to look at him, brows furrowed as she tried to register what he meant by that. Whatever she made out of it, Steffon would probably never know. It might be in his best interest not to know.

Tommen sooner wrapped his arms around Silver, pressing his face into the lion's fur. The only time Silver was ever so docile was when he was with Tommen and Myrcella. They were gentle, never insulted him like Steffon did, and played with him when Steffon was far too busy to. If the lion wanted to be spoiled in both food and attention, he knew just the two to look for.

"Will Silver be watching the Hand's Tourney with us, Steff?" Myrcella asked him, her green eyes gleaming as she looked up at him.

"I think Silver might ruffle some feathers." Bending his knees some so that he was at eye-level with her, he tilted his head slightly to the right. "Want to see the lords and ladies nearly ready to jump out of their seats and onto their bums from the sight of him?"

A mischievous grin came across her face, her hand rubbing Silver's back. " _Maybe_ ~" His sister said with feigned innocence.

"That would be funny!" Tommen cheekily added, "We always make fun of the lords and ladies when they visit. Remember when Cassie said Lady Caron had a horseface and kept neighing whenever she walked by?" The memory was clear as day in their heads, making them laugh almost instantly. Their harmonized laughter didn't last long, they sooner found their laughs dying out and a look of longing coming clear across their faces. Tommen hung his head low, "I miss Cassie." He quickly said, voice soft.

"I miss her too, Tom." Placing his hand on his baby brother's head, he pulled the both of them in. "Y'know, Cassie misses us too."

"How do you know?" Myrcella asked, "Did you send her a raven? I did, but she hasn't sent one back yet." A raven from King's Landing to Winterfell wasn't a speedy process, but Steffon understood her disappointment.

"Cassie and I are twins." He clarified, "We sometimes share our feelings because we're connected in that special way." Their big, green eyes looked up at him, looking at him for comfort as they tried to adjust the sudden absence of their older sister. "I can tell that she misses the way you stitch her dresses and how you would spend half the day braiding each other's hair. She misses reading Tommen his favorite story, 'The King o' the Cats' and surprising him with the Claw at his favorite part of the story." They started to smile again, relieving him that he managed to mitigate their worries. "She even misses me telling her that her room looks like a storm came through it. But she'll come to visit us one day and who knows, she might bring us a niece or nephew when she does."

His little sister smiled broadly, taking on the happy look she always wears. "I feel better now."

Meanwhile, Tommen tilted his head with his face contorted into one of puzzlement. "I can't see Cassie with a baby."

Steffon could only snort, "Neither can I but I'm sure she'll be better in caring for babies by that time."

Bringing them in for another squeeze, he let them go and stood straight again. From the sounds of it, he heard Joffrey come strutting down the corridor and into the entrance hall. "Father is late again, isn't he?" He said while rolling his green eyes that were so similar to their mother's. His little brother seemed grumpier than usual this morning. Tourney's usually made him happy, he enjoyed the zest and the violence of it all. Perhaps it was his own impatience that irritated him more than the day did.

"You know your father." Their mother tried to soothe him, placing her hand on his shoulders to give it a slight squeeze. "He can never show up on time for anything."

"Uncle Jaime is going to be in the tourney." Joffrey brought up, "Why is he such a show off? Didn't he just get unhorsed by that… that flowery buffoon last time and on my own nameday? He's an embarrassment."

Steffon quickly averted his eyes, trying his best to keep in his laugh. His mother looked annoyed by Joffrey's comment for reasons clearly known. Sometimes it was entertaining with the way the boy had no problem speaking his mind whatsoever. He just insulted his mother's lover without even knowing. "Do you think Ser Loras will unhorse Uncle Jaime again?" Steffon decided to join the conversation, fueling his mother's annoyance with the conversation at hand.

It was more of a surprise that Steffon was speaking to him, so much show his little brother seemed shocked at first. It was clear Joffrey still harbored some ill feelings for him after what happened at the Trident, they hadn't cooled down enough for him to be just a little above average of what Joffrey considered cordial. "Is that a bet?" Joffrey inquired.

"You want to bet on whether Uncle Jaime gets unhorsed? Didn't our father bet with Lord Baelish against Jaime and won?" Cersei's face would be stuck like that if she frowned any longer or any deeper. "I doubt they'll have the to face each other again. If Uncle Jaime loses to him again, I don't think he'll take it very well."

With a smirk, Joffrey crossed his arms. "You might be right, brother. My Hound will be in the Tourney and I have every reason to believe he'll win. He'll tear that Knight of Flowers from his charger like a child picks a flower from a garden."

But the Mountain would also be in this Tourney. It sounded like a recipe for a dish named disaster considering the volatile relationship between brothers. "I'll put gold dragons to Sandor."

"Why?" confused, Joffrey wanted to hear the reason behind it.

"Sandor is quite the fighter and I hear his strength is doubled the amount ahorse. Why not choose him? He seems like the wiser pick."

"Because the stupid Hound is afraid of the Mountain." His brother explained, "Every time he looks at him, he's about to soil himself."

For valid reasons, the both of them knew, that Sandor had every, single reason to fear his older brother. Joffrey thought the fear was borderline idiotic. Mainly because he had never had anything worse than a swelling or welt in his life. The slap and their father's few hits that he was eventually protected from were nothing compared to having half of your face put into a fire. His brother was too spoiled and barely knew of true pain.

"Let make it official, Steff. I put 50,000 gold dragons on the Mountain." Money was never a problem in this household, but that was a lot of coin over a silly bet between them. And what was he to do with that amount of coin? Steffon didn't need it to spend it on anything since he had anything he could've possibly wanted as far as possession go. He could probably throw the coins to a crowd in Flea Bottom.

No, that would be dangerous. They would fight for the coins and the last Flea Bottom needed was more brawling. He could ride to the city, properly guarded, and hand out coins. That seemed safer. After seeing how things were in Flea Bottom, that was the least he could do. "Also, I demand that you cut your hair. You look more like my older sister than my older brother. Is that really the look you're going for?"

Deadpanned, the Crown Prince gave his brother a frown. "Say something else and I'll encourage Uncle Renly to tell all the lords and ladies how Arya Stark bested you and threw your sword in a river."

The embarrassment of that incident was so clearly there. Joffrey practically shook with angry, hands curled into tight fists. "Don't you dare…"

With a saccharine smile, Steffon slightly leaned forward. "Oh, I dare, little brother."

 **lll**

Strange was how he found it all to be. Months ago, Steffon wanted to be part of this tourney, using the lance that Uncle Jaime gave him for his nameday for jousting specifically. If he wanted to show off, he could arrange to be a mystery knight, but the allure of it all became so dull to him. He felt thousands of eyes watching his every movement, many lords shoved their way towards him in order to speak with him, and his face felt so sore from false smiles that he thought the muscles would become numb by the end of the day.

Due to the tourney, Arbor Gold was served, only heightening the costs of this extravagance to a higher degree. It was his favorite wine, the first kind he ever tasted when he was a boy of seven. He fondly remembered his father handing him a cup to drink just throw it up all in one go. The taste of the expensive wine as of now helped rid himself of all the bubbling rage over the past few months, letting him become a calm-minded boy of his age with just a few sips of its nectar.

The Redwynes and the Tyrells, families by nature, had played their own games with him. Lord Paxter presented his daughter, Desmera, to him before he even took a seat or before Lord Mace could properly tell him hello. Desmera was younger than Steffon by a few months, and took the role of a shy maid upon introductions. She had a lovely voice with hair of deep auburn and eyes that looked as if the blue and grey collided to make an abstract color. What people would notice most about her, however, was her freckles. Pretty in face, Steffon didn't know much of her except from what her father boasted. She could sing and she could dance greater than any bard or any lady in the royal court, her father would say.

Cersei did her best to drive the Freys way. She said they would taint all that was right if their bloodlines had been crossed for another time again. Luckily his great-aunt Genna wasn't around to hear her say that that. Steffon wasn't all that enthused anyway, he didn't wish to be any close to the Freys than he already was. Their reputation and their actions before his own eyes had only made his dislike for them even more apparent.

"You should be in the tourney, Steff." He heard his father say, breaking him out of the fixed concentration he had at absolutely nothing while his Uncle Jaime won the round against Lord Bryce Caron. "Why sit here and watch? You're young, you joust…"

It sounded mostly like his father was itching to join the jousting himself, but his weight and his age was making him hesitant. It wasn't the fact that people would treat him different because was their king. "I've lost all interest." Steffon admitted, his voice monotone. "All of this bores me now." His eyes glanced down at the Hrakkar that laid at his feet, even Silver seemed unamused by it all.

"What in Seven hells has gotten into you lately? Now tourneys bore you?" Whether his father was in the mood to argue or he was actually concerned was something Steffon didn't know. What he did know was that he was not in the mood for this conversation, especially when people were watching them.

It sounded rude for him to say he found all of this boring in the first place, but it was his truth and he would not take it back. "I've grown, Father. That's what happens, isn't it? You don't like or enjoy everything you once did when you were younger." _'And unaware. Blissful… Ignorant.'_

Stunned or rather confused into silence, his father didn't say anything else. He merely stared at him with his mouth thinned. Steffon brought the chalice to his lips for another sip of wine before he decided to drink no more, even though being drunk and blacking out sounded more fun than watching this. He had to remain of some clear mind before the first day of the tourney ended.

Death wasn't out of the norm in tourneys and yet he didn't expect for Ser Hugh of the Vale to be the one to meet such a gruesome end. He was impaled in the throat by the sharp end of a lance, leaving Steffon to only shake his head and watch the life blood practically gush out of the wound like water does out of a fountain. He died in pain, tortuously slow, and the Mountain still remained, unscathed. How do people like Gregor manage to keep living? If there were gods, old or new, why did they keep him from meeting life's end or not give him the Stranger's embrace as the worshipers of the Faith would say.

They carried off his body and a boy came to shuffle the dirt to cover the blood that stained the soil. It was a saddening sight and it reminded him of too much of life itself.

"Getting anxious, Steff?" Sluggishly, he turned his head towards Joffrey. "The joust will end soon and both our champions still remain."

"Great observations, little brother. Please, tell me more of what I haven't already seen with my own eyes." He fought not to smirk at the quick scowl his brother gave him, "Don't feel too confident, the joust isn't at its end. The Hound _will_ win."

"Your _confidence_ is irksome." The same could be said in return, but Steffon kept that to himself. "You saw what the Mountain did to Ser Hugh and yet you still…"

"Many men have seen what other men can do and did that deter them?" Keeping his posture despite desperately wanting to recline lazily, he tried to keep his princely appearance than the sloppy look of his father. Even Tommen, just a boy, looked more regal than their own parent. "He is your Hound. Was he not chosen wisely?"

A look of thought came across Joffrey's face, like he was considering his words. Steffon wasn't told of anything else due to the fact that Joffrey had rather pay attention to the match at hand than this verbal spar. Gregor took down another, even their very own uncle. Watching Renly be unhorsed was dramatic in itself. When he practically flew off his horse with both legs in the air, his head hit the ground just as hard as his body did. He scared most of the crowd since all they heard was a cracking sound, which fortunately had been the antler of his helm that broke off.

When Renly got himself to his feet, stumbling as he did so, the crowd cheered for him. Both Steffon and Joffrey looked at one another, not seeing why the crowd was so pleased. Their shared look of confusion and lack of care made them mirror each other almost completely. "They'd cheer for anything." He heard his brother mumble. "Stupid lot."

Chuckling, they watched Renly give the broken tine of his helm to the Hound. _'He's really milking this, isn't he?_ ' And did the crowd have hearts for eyes for him then, even though Sandor threw the golden piece to the group of commons that fought to grasp it. At least some good came out of, even though Steffon was sure someone's eye would be blackened if they had even a quarter of it in their possession. His uncle wanted even more attention to relish in, so he began ceasing the fights without the proper intentions.

"If you'll excuse me." Having enough with all the theatrics, Steffon stood and tried to quietly slip away, Silver followed him at his heels. His mother already made her leave since she wasn't fond of tourneys herself. How long did she make herself suffer through this until she had enough, Steffon wondered.

Ser Barristan was already out of the competition, losing to Jaime of all people. Steffon intended to look for him, searching for the white-haired knight as he walked down the many pavilions by the river. When he finally found him, he was standing outside a tent with his eyes staring at the flaps as if he made no cautions to enter it. "Barristan" Steffon called his name, giving the man enough time to properly face him.

"My prince, have you lost interest in the matches?" There was a smile on the knight's face as if he already knew his answer.

"Did you see to what I asked?" His eyes searched around the area, making sure no one was in close quarters. "Are they safe?"

"Mhaegen and Barra are out of the capital as requested, my prince." Relieved, Steffon was glad he didn't have to worry about the two of them for the moment. "You still haven't told me of what we are meant to do concerning Gendry."

"I don't know what we should do, but he isn't safe where he is either." If anyone looked at Gendry hard enough, they'd see Robert Baratheon. Now that Ned Stark knew, Steffon wasn't at all sure of who else would find out about him or who else knew already. There was still the fact that Steffon still did not know the end result that his uncle wanted him to find. Concerning those matters, he didn't know where to begin.

Ser Barristan looked around once more, making sure they remained in the clear. "They say Ned Stark has a tome that Lord Arryn requested days prior to his death. Could that be apart of your search of this truth you seek?"

He only told Selmy a good portion of what he was doing and what he found. It was because he needed Barristan and trusted him that he told him that much. Whatever this end result was, he wasn't sure if that could be shared with another soul. It brought Jon Arryn death and made his uncle leave King's Landing for what seems like for good. How could he bring another life in danger? He was already endangering his own.

"Possibly. He needed the trail I was on and he got it…Now I need his." He needed that tome and how else was he supposed to get it without confronting the Warden of the North?

 _ **CASSANDRA**_

It pained her to watch her husband sit by the fire, face in his hands as he found solace in the quiet. It had been only a few days since Bran woke up and while Robb was so happy, overjoyed actually, it was still devastating in the sense that his little brother wasn't the same. She only caught wind of the last bit of their conversation, where Bran thought himself better off dead. She had wanted to see the little lord for herself, to speak with him and know him just as she did with Rickon, but it was by accident she heard a personal conversation between brothers. The former princess wasn't sure what Robb really expected. His little brother was the adventurous sort, he loved to run and climb. When you take that and just take the ability to walk from anyone, most importantly from a child, it wasn't going to be an easy process.

She wanted to comfort him and yet she didn't know how. What was she supposed to tell him? Her brothers weren't crippled for life. They weren't thrown and nearly killed. Her family had not dealt with such a thing, so all she could offer was sympathy. That she could imagine how they felt even if her imagination wasn't on the same par as their reality. "Robb…" Unable to allow him to suffer alone while simultaneously not wanting to pressure him, she knew it would be easier if he talked it out then bottled it in. "You can talk to me."

He didn't move or say a word, making her wonder if he was choosing to ignore her. Bunching her skirts in her hands to keep them from trembling due to her anxiety, she lowered her head almost weakly. What could she do? She kept thinking, trying to figure out the proper solution. What should a wife do? How does a wife comfort their husband? Would bedding him make him better? Her mother would say that was the wiser choice. His father sought women for that same reason, didn't he? His whoring was often prior to their marriage, but it became more frequent when the love of his life died. Her Uncle Tyrion sought the comfort of women to rid himself of the pain of the love of his life too. She supposed all men lost themselves in efforts to forget what hurt them most between a woman's legs. The solace they would find was temporary, but effective. That's why they kept going back for more, like an addiction.

"I've failed him as a brother." She nearly jumped, startled by the sudden sound of Robb's voice. Her eyes immediately flicked up to look at him, watching him look at the floor so crestfallen. "I failed him before and I failed him again."

"That's not true." There were many times where she felt inadequate as a sister for Steffon and Joffrey, of that she could relate to him with. "Sometimes as a sibling, the best you can do is be there for them. It doesn't feel enough, but it is all your power will allow." With hesitant steps, she lessened the distance between them. "You are a good brother, Robb. You did not fail him at all. You are simply doing the best that you can. Bran, at this time, is learning to adjust to this different way of life for him. And during this process, he needs you strong and to be how you always were with him."

That look in his eyes didn't change. That overwhelming expression of hopelessness didn't just go away like she wished it would. Robb was only seven and ten, the same as she, but he had looked like a little boy in his sadness. He barely looked like the lord he was. Due the strange height difference of them now considering he was in a seat, she had knelt down properly to give him a simple gesture. One that she would've wanted if she were in his place. One that he did for her when she was afraid after the fire. She hugged him.

It was almost instantly when she could feel every muscle in him relax. He began to bury his face in the crook of her neck, making the skin heat at the contact. The hairs of his beard tickled her, making her have to keep her laugh at bay from the feel of it. Her eyes gazed absently over his shoulder, her body too busy sinking into the warmth of his arms that circled her and kept her locked against him. It was such a simple gesture and yet…She had hugged many people before, but none of them came close to Robb's hugs. It made her feel like his arms were a safe haven, like the kind of sanctuary that someone looks for in a Sept or in a Godswood. Even though she was the one who was supposed to be comforting him, Cassandra could hardly remember why there should be any reason for fear and sadness at the moment. All there was, was warmth; a warmth not even the sun used to give in King's Landing or the fire in a cold night. Robb was made of Winter, so why did he feel like the Summer to her?

"Thank you." She heard him say very whisper-like, almost like he only wanted her to hear him despite them already being alone in the room they shared.

Words she heard before, she knew, but hearing him say that made her feel… giddy. That he was thanking her because he enjoyed what she had done for him. That what she did was so much enough that he wanted to express his gratitude. Robb could invoke many emotions in her, some she met before but with a different quality to it. They never reminded her of how she felt them before, they felt new and strange.

"I was almost scared that this wasn't going to be enough." She openly admitted, feeling comfortable with sharing that minor fear. "Tommen likes stories and Joffrey likes for you to distract him."

His hold had loosened, just enough for him to pull back enough to face her again. Her eyes quickly wanted to avert, not sure why she suddenly felt nervous looking at him now. His gaze, however, had her locked into place. "You mean to comfort me like you comfort your little brothers?"

He sounded… disappointed.

Confused, she drew her brows together. "No!" She finally understood why he would feel raw about it. "I mean that… I don't know how to comfort you because you're not my brother, you're my husband. I almost… I almost thought bedding you would make you feel better!"

That last bit was a slip of the tongue and she found herself feeling red in the face. Just why on earth would she had admit that? He was looking at her, that mischievous and roguish grin that he would wear whenever he felt like testing her with his jokes. This was embarrassing for her now and all she wanted to do was shield her face with the closest thing at hand.

"I wouldn't object to that." Whether he was joking or being honest, she didn't know, but what she did know was that she couldn't feel more flustered than she already had. "We could still do that."

"Shut up!" Squeezing her eyes shut for a solid minute, she could hear him laughing so clearly in her ears. What was worse? Finding his laugh pleasant when he laughing at her expense or actually considering what he said? "Here I am trying to be a good wife and you tease me?" It was a fight, to stand upright, and push herself away from Robb Stark. As soon as she stood, he immediately followed suit. "Goodnight!"

Robb allowed her one step. Just one before his rough hand, clasping her wrist, had pulled her right back towards him. Cassandra had no choice but to look up at him now, green eyes staring at his blue ones with uncertainty. She was unsure if she was enjoying this or she felt absolutely terrified that remnants of their wedding night began to play in her mind's eye.

It was still so odd to her that she had been so bold that night. She knew her duty and she had done it without fault. She shook away all her own fears of being deflowered because sealing the marriage was expected of her. It was still her duty now as his wife to pleasure him, but she had avoided it for multiple reasons. Right now, it didn't feel as if he was demanding it. It felt more like he wanted intimacy and wanted to know if she wanted it as well. It seemed like such a strange concept, of a man wanting to know if his wife wanted to lay with him. Her mother always said it with disdain, reluctance, like she hadn't wanted to be with her father when he made it known.

She swallowed the lump in her throat as her eyes caught the soft, gentle smiled. He rose his free hand, cupping it against the lower half of her face so that the pad of his thumb could slide across her bottom lip. His touch made her quiver as she parted her lips ever so slightly. Words had become superfluous to her and all she could do was marvel at him, like she had never laid eyes on him before.

"My mother and your uncle will be here any day now." Robb removed his hand from her face, letting him arm return to his side. "Best we rest, we never know if they'll arrive on the morrow."

And that was it. He just waltzed himself over to their bed, like he had done nothing. Like he did not make her expect something more than just light touches. She was so… so _frustrated_. Cassandra crossed her arms, her frown deep and brows bowed.

Robb Stark was an irritating enigma.

 _ **STEFFON**_

The jousting matches had not finished completely for the day, but would continue the next morning, just right before the melee. The feast, however, was still held within the night as the moon began its reign in full swing. Under the stars and the crescent moon, however, was nothing short of relaxing for him. At the moment, chalice in hand, he was swarmed by the daughters of high and low nobles alike; some had their parents at their side or just around to back them. Steffon had already lost interest with a whole lot of them. If he heard another girl sing "The Bear and the Fair Maiden" just to prove to him that they had a voice that would make the Maiden weep, he was going to run. Run where? Hell if he knew. He would just run, somewhere, at least.

"Prince Steffon," He heard a voice say out of the many, "I hear you are to be married soon." He had to admire this one's boldness. She was putting all her cards on the table, just practically admitting what she was here for. "Have you took a interest already?"

In truth, he was about to settle. That was the last thing he wanted to do, but his care about a wife at the moment was slim to none. "I can't say," He lied sweetly, his smile halfway cracking from how forced it was. "There are are so many beautiful and talented ladies here. How could I choose so quickly?"

He could hear giggles and sighs of disappointment from his words. His eyes lazily looked over their heads since he was taller than most of them. He saw Ned Stark looking half-dead as he sat with his father and a few of the Reach lords. Even he looked just about done with this feast, but it was already acknowledged that he didn't want this tourney in his honor in the first place.

"Steffon!" Startled some, he immediately looked around for the source of the voice, but found himself having to look much lower than he had half the night. At his hip was Arya, who looked at the many ladies around him with confusion and lack of interest.

"Lady Arya." Relieved to see at least one person he liked, he bowed his head to her before looking at the rest of his possible matches. "I would like to speak to the Lady Stark in private please. I will seek the lot of you out when I am finished."

His blue eyes watched any woman who looked at her with scorn and he mentally crossed them out when they did. How could they be jealous over a child? Did they think Steffon at the age of seven and ten was going to take interest in a girl of one and ten? She was practically the same age as Myrcella.

"You didn't look too happy." Her observations were correct, which made him wonder if he really used all the muscles in his face to the point of exhaustion. "Don't worry, I do the same thing to Robb when he gets swarmed at parties."

For the first time, he finally found himself able—actually wanting—to laugh. "Thank you, Arya." He thanked her genuinely, "I wasn't happy."

"But you were doing this because you had to, huh?"

"That's the worse thing about growing up." Giving her a half smile, he looked down at her curious and grey eyes. "You have to keep on doing things you don't want to."

"But you're the future king!" Arya pointed out in her confusion, "You should be able to do anything you want."

Placing the chalice in his hand on a nearby table, never to be picked up again, he crossed his arms. "That wouldn't make me a good king now, would it? A king has the ability to do everything he wants, sure, but even he is still faces restrictions. That kind of power makes monsters of men."

Her nod was slow, showing she was coming to understand what he meant. "You'd be a good king and I don't say that because you're my friend."

Smiling, Steffon rose a brow. "Then what makes you think I'd be a good king?"

"Because you're kind and you're good with a sword. You help people, which is more than I can say about some people." Her eyes slew to Joffrey, who had been actively avoiding Sansa Stark halfway through the night, he noticed. It seemed that he was still bitter with her about what happened at the Trident, and the poor girl seemed so hurt by it. If Steffon would've stepped in he was sure it would make it worse.

"You're after my own heart." He told her playfully, "You're going to be a dangerous woman when you're grown."

His thick eyebrows scrunched together at that, "What makes you say that?"

"Many men will be at your feet either from your hand or just one simple look from you." She still seemed confused, her face contorting even more in her confusion. "I'm aware of your "dancing" lessons." She nearly blanched at that but sooner grinned. "And you're already a pretty girl. I imagine once older, you'll be prettier than you are now."

Her fist came out of nowhere, hitting the lower half of his stomach. "Shut up!" She told him, all sense of propriety still absent between them. She got even angrier when he started to laugh, "Pretty boys always say pretty words! Doesn't mean they always mean them."

"I don't say things I don't mean, Arya. That I can assure you." And she hit him again, her face as red as the fresh apples in the baskets of fruit on the many tables. Raising his hands in surrender, he surveyed the area again out of curiosity. Sansa was no longer by herself, she was standing before another girl, a bit older than her by the looks of it. "Who is that person speaking to your sister?" He asked Arya, eyes unable to tear away by this person he had never seen before.

Arya whipped her head in the direction he was looking in. Squinting some, she then piped up once she knew the answer. "That's Lady Margaery Tyrell." The girl informed him rather quickly, "They called her 'The Little Rose' and some think she looks like my Aunt Lyanna, but my father says that isn't true."

Steffon never saw Lyanna Stark for himself. He could only take the woman's own brother word for it, leaving him to assume that Lyanna Stark and Margaery did not resemble one another. The She-Wolf of the North was said to be beautiful, so beautiful she made Rhaegar Targaryen whisk her away and made his father mourn her forever after causing a entire war to regain her. No matter what the She-Wolf looked or how she was, this Little Rose was beautiful in her own right. She did not need to be compared to anyone else.

Under these stadium of stars, Margaery Tyrell stood out to him the most. She was of fair skin and with hair that fell in many soft ringlets. Her hair reminded him of the brown leaves that signaled Autumn's approach when he traveled to and back from the North. Most of all, there was a presence about her, which was probably why Sansa herself seemed so much in awe of her as well. If he knew Mace Tyrell was hiding her in the gardens of the Reach earlier than he would've certainly…

"Steffon?" Arya called his name, trying to break him out of the trance he didn't realize he was in. In efforts to regain his attention, she had punched him in the same spot she had previously, causing him to blink several times and finally tear his eyes away from Margaery. "What was that?" She asked him, borderline concerned and annoyed. "You were looking all doe-eyed just now."

Confused, Steffon blinked another several more times as he shifted his gaze to look at the younger Stark girl. "I…" He didn't know what to say. He could barely think, his head was all muddled. A proper sentence seemed like an impossible task to him now. Pressing his palm against his forehead with his closed eyes, the Crown Prince found himself laughing, mostly at himself. "I don't know what just happened."

Arya looked at him strangely before following his eyes back to Margaery, "Oh… _I_ see now." Raising a brow, she gave him a smirk. "You got all fuzzy-headed for Lady Margaery, that's what."

Considering Steffon had bedded many girls that took his interest, he never felt 'fuzzy-headed' as Arya put it. What did that even mean anyway? Was it a Northern thing? "I was not fuzzy-headed." He wasn't sure why he was so defensive. Now Arya couldn't believe him, not even for a second.

"Right." Rolling her eyes, she looked over to her sister and the Tyrell. "I could tell her to come over."

"Don't!" Pushing his hand out to express how much he did not want her to do that, Arya seemed a bit taken back with his sudden actions. "I mean…" Pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut, Steffon hardly knew why he so bothered. "Shit, I don't know."

He could hear her laughing, making him cringe since it was at his expense. "Ohhh, _this_ is funny."

"Of course _you_ would think that was funny." This was embarrassing. Lucky it had been just Arya, he couldn't imagine if anyone else had seen him so uncomposed like that. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Lord Paxter with his daughter Desmera at his side. Next to them was Lord Mace Tyrell, who seemed quite eager in his steps towards him. Steffon's blue eyes met Arya grey ones. Like she knew what this was about, she seemed eager to make her leave.

"Good luck." She told him, "You'll need it." Before he could summon a comeback, she already left, breaking out in a sprint to seal it. Lord Paxter and Mace were standing right before him now, so he couldn't bother giving her chase since yelling would only make him seem improper.

"Lord Redwyne, Lord Tyrell." Both lords bowed their heads to him courteously. "Lady Desmera." She gave him a light curtsy, still keeping her head low. He wondered if her neck was sore, she couldn't keep her head down forever.

"Crown Prince, I see you've met Lord Paxter's daughter." Mace Tyrell gave the Redwyne a rather sour smile. He still felt a little slighter by Paxter's quick-moving, which left Steffon and Desmera oddly between the both of them in their competitive spirits.

Looking between the both of them, he kept his gaze on Mace. "Yes, I have." If he complimented her too much, Mace would be offended. If he didn't compliment her at all, Lord Paxter would be offended. "They've raised their daughter well." He settled, making Paxter give an arrogant smirk.

"Have you met mine?" asked Mace, who looked around for Margery as he did. He didn't even allow Steffon to answer before he called the girl's name. "Margaery!" Once he spotted her, he waved his daughter over to stand beside him. "To me, girl." Steffon hadn't expected for him to be so eager and now he had to steel his nerves.

She wasn't as short as he thought her to be, she had reached his shoulder once she stood before him. Out of decorum, the Little Rose dipped into a courtesy and presented him a smile that wasn't as shy but wasn't as ardent either. "I wished to meet you sooner, Prince Steffon, but you seemed very busy. I did not wish to overcrowd you."

Even her voice was pleasant. Steffon rather liked the sound of it, even going as far as to say it was loveliest thing he heard all day. To show his obvious interest and because he knew women liked such treatment, he took a precarious hold of her hand and pressed her knuckles to his lips for a chaste kiss. "We've met now and that's more than enough, Lady Margaery."

Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Mace slowly smiling, eyes flashing with approval. Paxter, however, was frowning so deeply that he immediately knew to fix his face before he was noticed. Margaery's hand was the first he kissed tonight, establishing that he favored her out of the many women that he had met. It did not mean he chose her exactly, but Margaery was obviously the most liked.

What surprised him most was that she had not blushed or seemed timid by it. In fact, she looked right into his eyes and watched him, smiling still. That told him that more than anything, Margaery was not so easily shaken. "Ahem!" Lord Paxter cleared his throat, making the two younger teens turned their attention away from each other and towards the Redwyne lord. Once got what he wanted, Paxter moved Desmera a few inches forward as if to make sure Steffon did not forget her.

You could say he felt a little guilty, seeing as Desmera seemed put off by the sudden spotlight. Margaery must've noticed it as well and placed a hand on the girl's arm, "Have you met the Lady Sansa, Desmera?" She asked her, "She is such a pretty girl and so very pleasant. I had an awful time trying to pry myself away from her, you should meet her as well."

Raising a brow, he watched Desmera look at Margaery and then towards her father. Paxter was trying his best not to be so heated and that was when Steffon noticed what exactly Margaery was doing. She was inisted for Desmera to leave and because Lord Tyrell was of a higher standing, it was hard for Desmera to necessarily deny her. Whether if it was to help Desmera or allow Margaery time to spend with Steffon by herself, the Crown Prince found himself unable to figure it out.

"Of course." Desmera muttered, gathering her skirts to make her to the redheaded Stark, who seemed to have won his brother's good graces again. Mace was trying hard not to beam, but did so anyway. Paxter roughly bowed his head, "I forgot that I have something to tend to. Another time, my prince."

Now he was left with Margaery and Mace, and Steffon was unsure if he just witnessed cunning or not. "I have yet to speak with the king. I will be going as well." Mace bowed his head as well and made his leave, leaving him alone with Margaery in the rather quiet corner of the feast.

"I thought they would never leave." Margaery admitted contently, "Now I finally have you to myself."

Blinking twice in disbelief, Steffon was now fully aware that the Little Rose of the Reach had thorns of her own.

 _ **CASSANDRA**_

"Have you ever heard of a three-eyed raven?"

A three-eyed raven? Sounded like something in stories that would scare a child. She remembered Steffon use to come back with scary stories to tell her and Joffrey, having her awake at night at the fear of some terrible monster coming to eat her. Joffrey would pretend to be brave, but would go running their mother's bedchambers deep into the night. Their mother scolded Steffon for a week for telling them such stories before he eventually would do it again. "No," She finally answered him, "did you dream of one?"

Bran nodded, "I did. had dreamt of one while I was sleeping."

Her hands folded in her lap, atop of the sketchbook she had laying across it with a piece of charcoal at the near corner of it. The only reason why she brought it with her was because Rickon informed her that Bran liked her drawings, especially of the dragon bones she made when she tried to tell Rickon how huge they were in the dungeons of the Red Keep. Cassandra had hoped to draw something for Bran personally.

"If you tell me the details…" She began, unfolding her hands and picking up the charcoal she used to sketch, "I'll draw it for you." It might've been borderline dangerous since it might have not been a good idea for a boy who had just woken from a coma to delve deep into his mind's eye. She also did not want him accidently thinking of a nightmare he could've had since what he had gone through was very much traumatic.

"Would you?" His eyes lit up, a smile coming across his face. "There isn't much to say about it. It looked like any other raven but with a third eye." He pointed his skinny finger at the area that was near the end of his forehead, practically touching the beginnings of the bride of his nose. "Right here!"

Turning to a blank page, Cassandra began her drawing of this three-eyed bird that the boy was unable to forget from his dreams. She was well aware that if the Maester knew of this, he would scold her for letting Bran speak of this creature. She heard the old man fuss to the boy about it, but she hadn't heard word for word what he said. Bran looked so disappointed by the end of the discussion and she didn't want the boy going back into his deep and dark moods.

Children were supposed to have such vivid imaginations. She, herself, could remember the crazy, bright worlds her mind use to make when she was young and how she wished them real. How whenever she played pirates with her brothers that they really imagined a ship and the sea. How their sticks became real swords, perfectly sharp from a fake whetstones they would apply to them. What was wrong with letting a child dream and love their dream? As bizarre as a three-eyed raven sounded, it had Bran so curious and excited. It gave him happiness.

As she sketched, watching her hand at work, Bran slightly leaned over at the beginnings of the outline of the bird. She had seen many ravens before because they were such a natural sight in Westeros. They were used to send letters to far and even close places. They also liked to fly, roaming wherever their feathers would take them. The rarest raven other than three-eyed one was a white one since were sent from the Citadel to spread news of the change of seasons. Since Cassandra was a Summer child, she never saw a white raven before.

"You have to keep this under your pillow." Cassandra told him a in hushed voice, eyes looking towards the door to see if it was still closed. "The Maester won't be happy if he knew I was drawing this for you."

"Don't worry!" He blushed immediately after he noticed how eager he sounded. The boy was desperately trying to reel himself in back to his usual calm. "I won't let Maester Luwin know of this."

"Good." They didn't speak of anything else, just letting the sound of charcoal against paper fill the room with noise since their conversation ended.

By the time, she was finished, Bran held out his hands for her to tear off the page and place it right into his grasp. He turned the page so that it was in the right direction, grasping both ends of the paper so that his eyes could scour the entirety of the drawing. He tore his eyes away from it, his eyes looking right into hers. "This it! It looked just like this!" Bran turned the drawing towards her, "This is how I saw it in my dreams!"

Naturally, her own curiosity of what a three-eyed raven seemed to mean started to take its hold on her mind. She would've gone the library and research, but most of the books and scrolls were burnt to ashes and her overall fear of the tower still weighed on her. If she approached the Maester about it, he would know it came from Bran. There might not be anything about it in Winterfell since he possibly tried to research it on his own and came back empty-handed.

"My uncle will arrive any day now." Tyrion was smart and seemed to know absolutely everything. It wouldn't surprise her if he knew what a three-eyed raven seemed to mean, especially in a dream. He might know if such a thing was real or not.

"Which one?" Bran questioned, showing genuine curiosity.

"Tyrion." She answered, watching Bran nod rather slowly.

"That means you'll be busy and Robb will be as well." That meant he would be lonely. Due to the drastic age difference, Cassandra was sure that Bran wanted someone he could talk to that was a little older. Rickon couldn't comprehend all of what Bran spoke of, which made her feel sorry for him.

Placing her hand on the boy's head, she combed through his soft hair with her fingers. "I'll come to see you afterwards and you can tell me more of what you dreamed of. And if my uncle does know anything about the raven, I'll come straight away to tell you."

That made him smile, thankfully.

A knock was at the door, alerting the both of them. A servant had entered first with Hodor slowly behind him. Cassandra had not gotten use to the friendly giant. She kept asking Robb why the man only knew of his name and never any other word, but Robb always kept telling her that he doesn't know either. Surely, someone around here had to know the answer and Old Nan just scared the wits out of her, despite how harmless Robb and Rickon would said she was.

"Lady Cassandra," said the servant, who gave her a small smile, "your uncle, Lord Tyrion, has arrived and waits for you in the Great Hall. He has also requested to see the Lord Bran."

Both Bran and Cassandra turned to look at each other, a bit confused by the news. "Well, you don't have to worry about being left, now do you?" Bran gave her a toothy grin as Hodor lifted the boy from the bed and she made her way to the Great Hall. Ryia walking at her heels, bearing the same enthusiasm. She tried not to be so eager, but this was the first time she would see anyone in her family in months.

The guards that stood at the large doors of the Great Hall slowly opened them upon the sight of her, allowing her to enter to catch the end of the conversation between her lord husband and her lord uncle. "You as well as any men of the Night's Watch is welcome here at Winterfell for as long as you wish to stay, Lord Lannister. The hospitality of Winterfell is yours."

He sounded nice, at least as nice as the voice he used that Bran called his lord voice. Her uncle slowly turned to face her, a smile coming across his face. "Ah, sweet niece, I was nearly afraid your husband was keeping me from seeing you."

"Nobody can stop me from seeing you, Uncle Tyrion." With a slight bend of her knees, she made herself low enough to kiss his forehead and for him to kiss her cheek.

"I see the North has been kind to you." Taking her hand, he rested on atop of hers. "I know it must be hard living in a region you've never known."

He was worried for her. She hadn't expected him to think much about her while he was at the Wall, gazing out at its beauty or doing and seeing whatever the Night's Watch had done in Castle Black. It was hard not to feel happy that he cared so much. "My lord husband has been more than good to me, Uncle. He as well as my goodbrothers and all the people here have been nothing short as kind and helpful."

"As they should be." It always amused her just how protective he could get. She could see Robb not looking all too fond of the implications that her uncle made. His eyes then lowered to the Hrakkar, "And Ryia seems quite healthy and happy as well." His hand smoothly stroke the back of the lion, who circled around him playfully, nudging his side with her head. She always liked Tyrion, he was the one who bought her and Silver in the first place. "Where is your goodmother? I thought she would arrive with you."

She didn't think of that. Cassandra slowly looked to Robb, who looked also troubled by that before gazing at the Maester. Trying to quickly come up where Lady Stark could have gone, she decided tell the best lie she could muster. "She is visiting Lady Arryn at the Vale, Uncle. She is worried for her and wishes to make sure she is well. I tried to warn her how… distraught the woman was, but that is her little sister and she intends to comfort her as only a sister can."

There was no room in her heart to feel guilty. She would let her uncle know the truth when she had him to herself and there were no other ears around. She had to pretend, to behave like she wanted to keep from this suspicion. "Ah, I see." Tyrion took her words, for now or so she hoped. "Lady Arryn does need all her help with her… grief." He tried to put it nicely, but the both of them knew how crazed that woman was. She probably became worse once she fled back to the Vale.

Hodor soon came, smiling as he walked in, with Bran in his arms. It was an awful sight, seeing Bran's legs dangling. like that to show they had no use. "So it is true, the boy lives. I could scarce believe it. You Starks are hard to kill."

Cassandra eyes slightly widen at his jest, knowing very well how those words could be taken as something else. Robb set his jaw at that. Tyrion didn't know, but he possibly fanned the flames of his suspicions with that.

"You said you had business with Bran." He reminded Tyrion, wanting him to get to the point. She could see why Robb was put off with Tyrion's sudden interest in Bran too. It halfway surprised her the same.

"Hello Bran." Her uncle said politely, Cassandra looked to little lord, who gave him a nod and a small smile. "Tell me, how is it you happened to fall that day?"

"He has no memory of that day." The Maester answered for him, despite Bran being very capable of answering the question for himself. Luwin, however, spoke to her uncle gently and so she could not feel a bit defensive as far as how her uncle was spoken to.

Tyrion eyes lowered in thought, "Curious." He murmured, warning his niece that he was very much suspicious about that. "I have a gift for you." He then told Bran, his eyes looking to his niece. "Sorry I did not bring anything for you, Cassie, but I thought you might not take an interest of anything at the Wall."

"You being here is the best gift." She told him, causing him to smile.

"Do you like to ride, Bran?" Curious, Cassandra looked at Bran to hear his answer.

"Yes!" He was quite eager with his answer, but his happiness began to wither almost instantly. "I mean I did like to."

"My lord, the child has lost the use of his legs. He cannot sit a horse." Luwin informed him.

"Nonsense!" Tyrion declared boldly to Luwin, "With the right horse and the right saddle, even a cripple can ride."

She cringed at the "c" word, knowing the boy barely got use to the fact that he would be called that for the remainder of his life. Still, her uncle told things like they were. He did not sugarcoat things, especially when Cassandra desperately wanted him to.

"I'm not a cripple." His voice, his glossy eyes had wounded her heart. Her eyes narrowed at her uncle, trying to warn him to be nicer, but he simply looked back at her with a clear: _"Don't you coddle him!"_

"Then I am not a dwarf!" In light of how lighthearted he sounded, she had hoped Robb wasn't offended. "My father will rejoice to hear it." Cassandra snorted inelegantly at that, knowing very well if her uncle suddenly grew at full height that her grandfather might actually like him. It was hard seeing how terribly her grandfather treated her uncle and there had been nothing she could do about it. She still loved Tywin Lannister, even the parts of him that were sharp and frightening. "Give this to your saddler, he'll provide the rest." With the scroll she hadn't noticed attached to his hip, he handed it over to Bran, who quickly unrolled it and let his eyes dance all over whatever was on it. "The boy cannot use his legs to command the animal, so you must shape the horse to the rider. Start with a unbroken yearling and train it to respond to the reins and to the boy's voice."

Cassandra slowly leaned over towards Bran, seeing the drawing for herself. "You see, Bran? That's where I learned to draw so nicely."

"I didn't know Lord Tyrion could drawn." Bran grinned at her before looking back at Tyrion with hopeful eyes. "But will I truly be able to ride?"

"You will." Her uncle's voice was unwavering, "And I swear to you, boy, on horseback, you will be as tall as any of them."

All tension had left Robb's face and for a second, Cassandra thought she saw him give a slight smile in Tyrion's direction. "What made you consider helping Bran, Lord Lannister?" He asked, genuinely curious.

"Your brother Jon asked it of me. And I have a tender spot in my heart for cripples and bastards and broken things." As always the jester, he placed his hand over his heart with a grin adorning his face.

"Now that you have given Bran his gift, might I steal you, Uncle?" Cassandra asked him as he briefly looked to Robb to see him nod approvingly.

"Thank you, Lord Tyrion." Bran thanked him, still beaming. Tyrion graced him with another smile before walking alongside Cassandra. It was her duty to show him to a room now in the guest apartments, she knew that much. He was her family and her guest, so it was only right that she tend to him.

The halls were quiet, like they always were, and only the sounds were of her heels clicking against the floor. Cassandra looked down at her uncle, who was gazing up at her with curious eyes. "What is it, Uncle Tyrion?"

"I didn't think you would settle into this marriage so quickly." Confused by what he meant, she rose an inquisitive brow. "I halfway thought you would've put up a fight and would beg me to take you back South when I arrived."

Chuckling, she imagined if her marriage turned out anything like her parents then his words would most certainly be truth. "I told you Robb has been good to me."

"I nearly thought you were lying. You can't speak so lowly of him in his presence and among his men." He inclined his head slightly at her, knowing that it would be rude of her to speak recklessly about him, even to her own blood. "I know you to be brazen, but not to that extreme." Cringing, she wondered if her mother was worried about her boldness back at home. Cassandra never knew she was so blunt and rough around the edges until everyone seemed to tell her she was. She was princess! Well, she _was_ one _._ That was an insult if anything. "Do you love him?"

His question didn't surprise her as she thought it would. She merely shrugged her shoulders, "I don't know." She saw no reason to be dishonest, "How does one know they are in love?"

"I thought that was something you women just know." She frowned at that, making her feel twice as inadequate as both as wife and a woman. Were girls supposed to be experts on the subject? Every single girl she had met thus far seemed to know of love more than she did. It was as if they all studied with their Septa's about what the feeling was and she was just too dumb to comprehend the lesson. "Tell me then, how is it that you feel when you are with your Stark mate?"

Wrinkling her nose at 'Stark mate', she shrugged once again. "As of now, I feel happy when we are together." Cassandra didn't expect to feel so flustered with her admittance Was it because she speaking about this with her uncle or because her affection for her lord husband? "I did give him a hard time before… I was purposely avoiding him and making him feel like I did not wish to be in his company. Now I wish I had more time to spend with him for he is busy most days."

"I don't think I'm the proper source to be asking about things such as love. After all, the only woman I have ever loved betrayed me and is somewhere I'll never know." Speaking of Tysha was bound to get her uncle emotional, almost to the point where he'd be practically begging for wine just to get the woman out of his head.

She could strangle this Tysha she never met for what she did to him. Even though Cassandra did not know why the woman chose to hurt him so over some petty coins, she could hold a grudge against her for breaking his heart the way she did. The way she ruined most of him, leaving him drinking and whoring more often than any man should. Thank the Seven he did not have any bastards that she knew of. "But you know that you love her and you know you that you still do." His lips formed a deep drown at that, making him lowering it some. "Don't worry, Uncle. I accept that this is a thing that I must learn on my own."

"That would be best, yes." Cassandra had stopped in the middle of their walk, turning to look over her shoulder to see if they were being followed. "What's the matter?" He asked, slowly looking around as she did. "Is everything alright?"

"There is something I want to speak with you about and I don't want any ears around." Opening the door for him, she watched her uncle amble his way in before shutting the door once she entered behind him. Pressing her eat to the door, she tried to listen for any sort of footfalls, but all she heard was dead quiet. Standing upright, she turned to face Tyrion. "Someone sent a catspaw wielding my father's dagger to kill Bran." Clearing her throat, she wondered if it was wise to tell him how she was almost murdered along with him. Finding it hard to keep that a secret, she spilled the truth much to her reluctance. "In the process, they… they almost killed me."

Tyrion's mouth opened in shocked, barely soaking in all that she told him. "I…" Flabbergasted, he didn't seem as if a proper sentence could leave him."Did they…?" Hesitantly, he inclined his head, eyes flashes with a warning to tell him the truth. "Are you hurt anywhere?" Almost immediately, Tyrion went to grab her hands. "Did they _touch_ you?"

"No," The Baratheon shook her head, "I'm fine. I was saved. They set the library afire to cause a distraction, but they didn't know I was inside. I tried to fight them and they locked me in. I'm more than sure that they didn't really know who I was."

"Have you figured who could have done this?" His grasp on her hands became tighter, his brows furrowed. She didn't like when Tyrion was angry. His mind became a steaming mess and sometimes the end result was bloody. Not only do Lannister's pay their debts, they kill whoever even looks at their family hard enough.

"…No, I'm afraid not." She answered rather quietly, "The Starks immediately thought it to be a Lannister."

"How could they not? Their hearts have never been warm to us and we _were_ here when Bran fell." Letting go of her hands, he pinched the bridge of his nose out of frustration. "How would one not see it suspicious? A boy who climbs nearly all his life, never falls any other day, suddenly loses his footing in the company of a family not well liked. That's probably why your husband was so wary of me. Can't say I fault him for that…" Cassandra almost thought her uncle and husband would be extremely hostile during his stay, and she wasn't sure if she would be able to fix and smooth the relationship. Hopefully, she could get them to understand each other while not betraying either one. "Tell a servant to fetch me some wine, Cassie. I can't think sober like this."

 _ **NED**_

"You cannot force the boy to fight in the melee." Robert had been itching to sign himself up for it. Without a warhammer, he couldn't find himself able to do it because it was his only weapon of choice. So the next best course of action was for Steffon to join the melee, his father's hammer in tow, and win in the place of his father. It wasn't about Robert wanting his son to succeed, he just wanted to imagine himself back when he was young and strong in his son's place.

"He's _my_ son!" Robert yelled, drunk already from beer instead of wine this time. "He damn well do as I want him to. Why did I give my hammer to the boy anyhow? He rather waltz around with that skinny blade at his waist! I've been nothing short of disappointed with him as a late. I saw him as something great once and now he shows me he truly is his mother's son!"

When he first learned the boy to be named Steffon, Ned foresaw the boy's future already. If that boy did not surpass his grandfather then Robert was bound to be disappointed in every way possible. The girl, Cassandra, had been the luckier one. Her name was halfway her own unlike her brother's. It warmed him to know that Robert kept his promise to his mother, to give his daughter half her name, which he thought would've been Mya's once. Eddard suppose her double luck was that she was a girl and not at all a future ruler. Now she was in the North, married to his son, and he hoped the two were finding the happiness that he and Catelyn shared. He couldn't find himself hoping another union like Cersei and Robert's for the next generation.

He figured Robert would know what it was like being compared to your father all your life. Eddard wasn't, but Brandon was, and he had to watch his brother try to be better than their father. He was the next Lord of Winterfell, the rightful one, and he lost his life at the same time their father. Horrible, right next to him. Ned strove to be a good lord, good as Brandon would've been, and better than his father, but the weight of it never seem to leave him because the guilt of inheriting what was meant for him never left either. Now he had to watch Steffon struggle, just as he watched Brandon once did. Just like Robert himself did once. Unlike the rest of them, Robert stopped caring of superseding his father and became his own person. It could be that Steffon was going to do the same as his father did and now Robert would know how it felt for a child to branch off on their own too.

"You told him to find a proper wife and he's doing just that, Robert." He tried to defend him while also trying to calm his best friend's ire. "I hear he and Lady Margaery are quite well taken with each other or so the people say."

Robert lowered the polished horn in his hand, surprised by the news. "Lady Margaery? The little Tyrell girl?" Ned nodded in reply, "I think Renly showed me her once. They try to say the girl looks like Lyanna." He was well aware of that rumor and denied it as quickly as it was told to him. "She's as lovely as a dawn, but she ain't half the beauty that Lyanna was."

He agreed quietly, seeing that faraway look come across Robert's eyes whenever Lyanna was mentioned. His sister still had a hold on him like no other. "Steffon is a good heir and will make an even better king, melee or no, and you know that."

"I don't know, Ned. Ever since my girl left, he's been tiptoeing around and suddenly changing. He told me other day he doesn't even care about jousting or tourneys. That boy was never like that. Not once. My memory may be shit at times but when that boy saw a tourney for the first time, you had to stop him from trying to put on some armor and climbing a horse. I never been more proud at how eager my boy was. He couldn't even count to ten yet but he wanted to knock someone off their horse."

It was rare to see his best friend speak of the memories of his children. All he ever said about them was what he wanted out of them, not how he felt about them. Robert sat down in his chair, shaking his head in disappointment still. "Our children change. They never stay the same and we have to accept that, for better or for worse. Do you think your father would've thought you to be the king after Aerys?"

"He probably would've prayed to the old gods and the new that they never put my ass on the throne!" He roared with laughter, "My father would've put Stannis on that iron seat before me."

Sometimes Ned wondered how thing would've been if another person sat the Iron Throne. Stannis, he reasoned, wouldn't have allowed himself to be surrounded by Lannisters. Would he have married Cersei? Perhaps. Stannis was much sterner, had a sense of justice, and would've been a king many people didn't want but had no choice but to respect.

How would Steffon be as king after his father? Ned had no idea. The boy was perceptive if anything, he knew things well enough. He was good with a sword, he bested Robb and tied with Jon. He also seemed to have good relations with most of the lords who knew him and did not have the reputation to whore as much as his father. He heard some of the illicit affairs that the boy had with lowborn girls around the castle. All of them ended with the boy breaking it off cleanly and none of them bore him any bastard children. The boy was still so young, so naïve in many walks of life. He had never been made a ward neither, which might've helped him be more worldly.

 **lll**

It was night, the tourney had been completely over and he no longer had to feel burden about this event being in his name. It was horrible enough that Ser Hugh died in this tourney. Now all his mother would hear was that her son died in the Tourney for the Hand, Lord Eddard Stark. Hopefully, the woman could find peace in spite of losing her child.

He took out the dagger, the one that Catelyn brought him and Littlefinger informed him was his own. The one that was nearly used to murder his little boy. Littlefinger claimed it was his, won by Tyrion Lannister, through a wager, and somehow sent to slay Bran in his sleep. Before he could thoroughly question why anyone, especially the dwarf Lannister, would want his son dead, he was interrupted by a knock.

"Enter." He told them, loud enough for them to hear him and not so much yell. Putting the dagger away, he turned to see that it was the Crown Prince that entered the Hand's tower. The boy had entered the room and shut the door quietly, but his face of a force calm. "Crown Prince, what brings you here? More importantly, why this late into the night?"

"There's something I want that you have, Lord Stark." His eyes quickly examined the room, possibly looking for exactly what he came to claim. "It is the tome that Lord Arryn had. I want it." Usually, the boy was so calm and pleasant, manners ever so present, but he seemed almost crazed. That's when he noticed the boy's eyes were red, puffy, like he had shed some tears. His eyes did not hold the look of sadness, however, they were filled with rage like the seas during a storm.

"First, tell me what bothers you. You look unwell." He watched the prince walk closer towards him, blocked by the desk between them as he slammed his fist onto the surface, making everything lift into the air for a quick second. Startled by the sudden outburst, Eddard was more unsure what could have gotten into him. Why drove the boy into such anger?

"If you don't hand me the tome, Lord Stark, I will rightfully become a kinslayer. So unless you want a bloody slaughter, I suggest you hand me that tome this instant!"

A kinslayer? He was going to murder a member of his family? For what? Ned was unsure how he could quietly calm the boy without heightening his anger. "Steffon, you can trust me. Tell me what it is that angers you to to the point of slaughtering kin."

Clenching his jaw, Steffon pushed himself from his desk. "Cassandra was nearly killed by some foolish catspaw."

How did the boy come to know this? He was sure Cassandra wouldn't be as eager to send her brother a letter about her near death. If she loved him, she wouldn't. "I suppose you know this, didn't you? I don't have the right to be angry with you because I… I know who pushed Bran from the tower." The Warden of the North became still, his eyes widening to complete fullness at the boy's words. "I wanted to get the revenge for myself, for you son and for all that they had done. I nearly lost Cassie for being so slow."

"Who did it, Steffon?" Now Ned was losing all his patience, "Who tried to murder Bran and nearly killed your sister? Who threw my son from the tower?"

"I don't know who sent the catspaw." Steffon admitted, his voice slowly losing its fiery edge. "But it was my Uncle Jaime who threw him from the tower."

Jaime Lannister had thrown Bran from the broken tower. It didn't come as a complete shock, but Ned was riddled with the question as to why much more frequently now. Did Tyrion send the catspaw in order to protect him? It made sense, seeing how close the two were said to be. They would do anything to protect each other. That was how a Lannister's were. Killing a child didn't seem so farfetched, especially after all those years ago when Tywin allowed the Mountain and Amory Lorch to kill Rhaegaer's children so brutally.

"Do you know why he threw him from the tower?"

Steffon seemed reluctant as if he didn't want to tell Ned the reason. The boy slowly turned, trembling in his rage. "Because he's been having an affair with my mother. Bran caught them and in efforts to keep their disgusting affair a secret, he threw your son from the tower."

"You saw this and you said nothing?" Shocked by the news of it all, Ned remembered when he approached Steffon before, about the boy being sick. He had vomited because he caught the sight of his uncle and mother together? "What vengeance did you hope to gain on your own?!"

"More than what you can give him!" He yelled back, "What are you going to do Lord Stark? Go tell my father without a shred of evidence? Everything will be based on hearsay? I'm the only one my father will believe because I saw it for myself! I'm her son, why else would I lie on my mother in such a way unless it was the truth?"

If Steffon told him he saw it, Robert would believe him instantly, but on what grounds could he punish Cersei and Jaime? They still needed proof. "And what of the tome? What do you need it for?"

"You and I are on the same trail and it has something to do it. I know it can help me get vengeance for Bran and now for Cassandra and myself as well as Jon Arryn and everyone else that my uncle and mother have murdered and harmed for each other!"

The boy was so torn and Ned could not imagine how hard it must've been to find out what his own mother and uncle had done. The people he had known, trusted, had all betrayed him in sort of life damaging way. He did not hide the secret to protect them but because he wanted to rectify things on his own. Ned could have loved him for that, but Bran was his son and he had the right to know about who crippled him months ago.

"The tome is there." He pointed to the other side of the room, where the book laid atop of an end table. Steffon stormed his way over, opening the book with such force. He immediately flipped the pages, studying them as quickly as his eyes would allow him to. "What is this?" Steffon asked, "What… What does a book about lineages have to do with anything?"

"Grand Maester Malleon wrote this book. It was made so that the lineages of Westeros could be properly recorded. I was told that before Jon Arryn died, he had this book in his possession. And from what I've read, nearly ninety years ago, Tya Lannister and Gowen Bratheon had a boy whose name is forgotten, but he had a full head of black hair. Each time a Baratheon had a child with a woman of golden hair, she bore him a child black of hair. You and your younger siblings have been the only exceptions. Cassandra is one of the many with black of hair."

"And what of the eyes? Did they have the blue eyes? All of my father's bastards have his eyes as well. Mya, Edric, Gendry, and Barra… All of them have the Baratheon blue, but Cassandra, Joffrey and—"

He stopped speaking, standing up with his wide as if he had seen a silhouette in the room. Eddard had looked at the boy, brow raised until he himself had put it all together. Black of hair wasn't the only common trait, it was the blue of eyes. Cassandra and Steffon were the only ones with an actual mixture of the Lannister and Baratheon lineage, but their younger siblings had the look of pure Lannisters; blonde of hair and green of eyes.

"She gave my uncle three children and gave my father two." The prince stood in his shock, "I want to say I can't believe it, but I do. She loves him. She loves my uncle and she would… she would have his children. She _did_ have his children."

"We could be wrong, Steffon. We don't know the entire truth—" This could be them jumping to conclusions, of that he was sure. It all seemed to come together, but they still had to be sure.

"And how do you think to find that out? What are _you_ going to do? Confront my mother?" It was the wiser idea, one that Ned was heavily considering. Steffon could see that he was thinking about doing it too, he instantly threw his arms in exasperation. "Are you mad?! She would have you killed! You think she would admit such a truth to _you_ of all people?!"

It didn't hurt to try. The queen already watched him, he had been made aware of that. Since she did not kill him yet, she probably knew that he might find the truth any time soon. He already knew once left for the South that his life was in danger, even more so when he took the role of the Hand. "You keep this to yourself and do nothing. You do nothing until we know for a certainty."

Closing his eyes, Steffon raked his hands through his golden hair in his frustration. "I'm suppose to sit and do nothing after my sister was nearly killed? After I know that it possible that my own brothers and sister could be my cousins as well? How do you expect me to sit here and do nothing, Lord Stark?! Cassandra is not the only one in danger. If anyone finds out Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen are bastards, they'll—"

"If you want to protect your siblings and keep yourself from death, you _must_ do nothing for now." Steffon immediately froze upon the mention of protecting them, his stormy eyes were now looking down at the floor as he inwardly seethed. The boy reminded him so much of Robert then; this explosion of anger he had was just like him, but he had kept himself from doing a number of rash things his father would have done in his place. "If you act so hastily, you'll only put them in more danger." In some ways, Ned probably had to thank Cersei for giving her firstborn _some_ self control.

"Do you know who this dagger belongs to?" Now that they were teaming up in this investigation, it was best to know the truth about everything. He took out the dagger he believed belong to Littlefinger and placed it on the desk for Steffon to see.

"That's my father's." He answered him simply, shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders as if he didn't see the point of it. "Why do you ask?"

"Someone gave this to the assassin to kill Bran. Littlefinger claims it was his and he lost it in a wager to Tyrion Lannister. He said your uncle had bet against Jaime Lannister for it."

"That's the stupidest lie I ever heard." Steffon scoffed, looking as if he barely able to believe that Baelish had said that. "Not only is that dagger more expensive than all his brothels altogether, my Uncle Tyrion would never wager against Jaime. Tyrion holds too great a love to ever do that to Jaime."

Ned looked down at the dagger, head swirling with a massive wave of confusion. Not only did Littlefinger lie to him, but he lied to Catelyn as well. He had to send her a raven to make sure she did not do anything reckless, like laying a single finger on Tyrion Lannister's head. If Jaime Lannister loved Tyrion as much as it was implied then he was sure to cause a storm if anything should happened to him. Who knows what more the Lannisters were truly capable of.


End file.
